Ring of Fire
by Liss Webster
A/N: You can't tell me John wasn't a Johnny Cash fan! This was written during season 2.
[1]
John recognised Mary the second she came into the garage. Pretty little Mary Henderson, who had lived three streets down. And she'd grown up. Boy, had she grown up. And something inside John Winchester, something hard and tense and unyielding, something that had been closed ever since he returned from the Marines, fell open, all at once, in a way he had never thought it would. He watched as Mary gesticulated towards her car, watched as Jimmy nodded and pointed, and scribbled something down on his notebook. He watched as Mary nodded agreeably, and walked out of the garage, the bright spring breeze flicking her long dress.
John fell in love that day, then fixed Mary's car, whilst the radio played loudly, echoing through metal and grease and overalls.
There's a story in our town
Of the prettiest girl around
Golden hair and eyes of blue
How those eyes could flash at you
[2]
John Winchester sat sightlessly in front of his life, not seeing it burnt out and shrivelled up. At two o'clock in the morning, there wasn't anyone about. The road was quiet; houses darkened. And the Winchesters' house darkest of all, looming shadow and rubble. John had been to Missouri. John had learned the truth. And John didn't know what to do about it. He was knocked off his axis, falling without a rope. The rules of the universe had shifted, and here he was. A widower. The only thing remaining of his home was this car. He had two children depending on him, and God knew he didn't think he was up to the job, not alone. What? What was he supposed to do now? He drank mindlessly from the bottle resting at his side, and railed at a God he no longer believed in for letting this happen, for letting all this be true. And he cried.
It was quiet, so he heard the car coming, driving a little too fast down the surburban road. Though it was cold, the windows were down, and John raised his head as he heard the music radiating out, like a message.
He called my name and my heart stood still Go tell that long-tongue liar
When he said, "John, go do My will!"
Go and tell that midnight rider
Tell the rambler, the gambler, the back biter
Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down
The car drove on, and the night grew silent, but John wasn't stupid. John had got the message. God or no God, he knew what he had to do. What had to be done. He lifted his head, looked one last time at the home he and Mary had loved, and fired up the car. That time was past. He had a new life now. And he was going to find that son of a bitch that killed his wife. No matter where he had to go, no matter how long he had to take, he was going to bring him down.
You can run on for a long time
Run on for a long time
Run on for a long time
Sooner or later God'll cut you down
[3]
John Winchester loves his boys. Loves them something fierce, not that he goes around yapping about it. But dear, sweet Lord, one day he is going to pull over to the side of some dusty road, kick 'em out of the car, and shoot 'em dead. Of the many things he has learned in the six years since Mary's death, this is the most relevant to his life: two kids in the back of the car, on long journeys, will drive you crazy. He almost always has the radio on, in a bid to ignore the constant squabbling in the backseat. Sometimes that makes things worse.
I've been to Boston…
"We've been to Boston, haven't we, Daddy?" asks Sammy, kicking John in the back. John grimaces, and nods.
"Sure have, Sammy."
…Charleston, Dayton, Louisiana…
"And we been to Loo-eeeez-i-ana."
"No, we haven't," objects Dean, and punches Sammy in the arm. Sammy punches him back.
"Yeah, we have. We been to Loo-eeeez-i-ana a million trillion times."
"Sammy, we haven't been to Louisiana, have we, Dad?"
"Well, we crossed the state border once, I think, but only for a couple of minutes." This turns out to be the worst thing John could have said, because both boys claim to have been right. "Boys…" he says warningly, but to no avail.
…Monterey, Ferriday, Santa Fe…
"And don't go saying we've been to Santa Fe," says Dean, pre-emptively, "cuz we ain't."
"Haven't," corrects John, wondering if, at ten, Dean should still be making that mistake, then wondering what the fuck it matters. Dean doesn't care.
"See, Dad says so."
Sammy's face is set mulishly. "Didn't say we been to Santa Fe," he says, then sticks out his tongue. "'M not an idiot, Dean. I know we haven't been to Santa Fe."
…Spirit Lake, Grand Lake, Devil's Lake, Crater Lake…
"Hey, Dad, are there really spirits at Spirit Lake?" asks Sammy eagerly, moving on from the Santa Fe crisis.
"Yeah, like there's the devil at Devil's Lake," replies Dean, sarcasm so strong a blind man of 103 would be hard put to miss it. Sammy is oblivious.
"Really? Really the devil? Daddy, we aren't going to Devil's Lake are we?"
"Jeez, Sammy, you're so stupid sometimes." John's blood pressure is rising. He can actually feel it rising. He wonders if the time for shooting them dead has come. He's got this sweet new shotgun, bought it off that Bobby fella. That would do the trick real nice.
"We're not going to Devil's Lake," he grinds out between clenched teeth, "not that the devil's there. Dean, don't tell Sammy he's stupid."
"Well, he is," grumbles Dean under his breath, subsiding as John catches his eye in the rear view mirror.
I've been everywhere
"Daddy, we been everywhere!" Dean punches Sammy in the arm again. John snaps off the radio.
[4]
For a while afterwards, John always switches off that song when it comes on the radio. Dean does too. It was playing the night Sam made his stand, and John will always wonder if that was what prompted Sam to do it there, that night.
But I'm gonna break-
He had known that Sam was dissatisfied – heck, it was hard to miss it. Bitching, arguing, full-out refusing to do what he was ordered. And John had been at a loss, because when he ordered his boys to do something, they did it, no questions. And Dean had been a good boy (no, not too good, that was a stupid thing to worry about) but Sam… Sam wouldn't settle.
I'm gonna break my-
He'd been hinting about college for months – years even, when it came down to it, but John had squashed it flat every time. Like he was going to let his son go away – miles away – somewhere he couldn't protect him. Somewhere he couldn't control things, make sure everything was OK. Not that he had been doing a sterling job of making sure things were OK while Sam was around, otherwise none of this would have happened.
I'm gonna break my rusty cage and run
He checks up on him. John Winchester has his ways, after all. But he hates thinking that this – their life, their family – was a cage for Sam. He hates that Dean's had that thought too, because John knows his elder son through and through, and he knows what family means to the kid. Sam's defection has killed off something in Dean, and John finds it hard to forgive Sam for that, because Christ knows Dean deserves something better than his brother to just decide he's had enough and fuck off. He doesn't understand what goes on in Sam's head, what led him to do this to them all.
You wired me awake
And hit me with a hand of broken nails
You tied my lead and pulled my chain
To watch my blood begin to boil
And sometimes he's afraid it was all his fault.
[5]
The radio is on, quietly, unobtrusively, as John limps into his hospital room. He feels freer, lighter, now that it's come to this. He's made his deal. His boys will live on, and they'll get that bastard demon, he knows they will. He probes his own feelings, to find just that bit of regret, and can't find it. This isn't the best deal. It wasn't what he was hoping for. He'll never be with Mary, and that hurts. But it's saved Dean, and right now, that matters more than anything else. He sits on the bed, puts the Colt on the table beside him. He thinks of Mary. Mary in the kitchen, swearing at the sauce that refuses to behave itself. Mary in the bathroom, splashing Dean with bubbles. Mary in the nursery, singing a lullaby to the baby, stroking fluffy dark hair. Mary in their bedroom, moving with him, kissing along his jawline. John Winchester smiles as he dies, and the radio plays on.
I fell into a burnin' ring of fire -
I went down, down, down,
And the flames went higher,
And it burns, burn, burns,
The ring of fire, the ring of fire