More Than A Child
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John passed a callused hand over the smooth velvety skin of the woman who was moaning softly under his skillful caresses.
He was a passionate man who had been madly in love with his wife and since her death he had taken his pleasure where and when he could, with women who found his dark good looks dangerously attractive and wanted a night of passion with no strings attached, but even if they had wanted more, he never stayed around long enough to consider it nor would he ever do so, not unless he found his Mary alive, and as whole and beautiful as she had been before her tragic death.
The grotesque way she had been killed had turned that love into an obsession, until all John could now envisage was the ultimate vendetta against the one who had killed her and hurled him into this life.
He and Mary had produced two wonderful children but his thirst for vengeance was so strong and fueled up, that although he loved them dearly, sometimes their well-being faded into second place, obscured by his pulsing need for revenge.
John emptied his mind, letting his needs play out on the pretty woman who lay beneath him and although tomorrow her face would have fled his memory as if she had never existed, he was a man who had always enjoyed giving pleasure as well as receiving it, and as he always did with anything he set his mind to, he would bring this to a satisfying conclusion for himself and his 'prey', and so he applied himself to the sex as he would to killing the monster of the day.
He was so caught up in the throes of passion that he almost forgot to take his normal precautions, almost, but he didn't need another complication. He already had two kids to look after, he didn't need more, but fate has a way of intervening, and that night the third player in the future drama that was to play out, was brought into existence and his birth would close the circle that would condemn one of his sons to eternal torment in the Cage and the other to a tormented nightmare-ridden life without his brother.
While John bucked in the apex of ecstatic fulfillment, the two children whose young lives lay in his hands, were living a passion of their own but unfortunately not in the same pleasurable way their father was.
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Dean pulled his brother along the street; the younger child was tired from the long trek through the town that Dean had taken him on.
Five year old Sammy had already begun to assert his independence, usually turning his nose up at having to hold hands with his big brother but as his weary little legs had begun to tire, a small grubby hand had crept into his big brother's, seeking the comfort and 'home' that Dean meant to him.
Dean took it more than willingly, and in this case without the brotherly snark he would have voiced on other occasions.
He sighed; he knew Sammy was exhausted, but that had been his intent when he had dragged the kid on a never-ending hike around the town.
Dad had told him to stay inside the motel room until he returned, but there was only a certain amount of time that you could keep an energetic five-year old cooped up in a boring motel room, and so Dean, not for the first time, had gone against John's orders and taken his little brother first to the park and then on this walk.
There was an underlying reason to it though. John as often happened, was late in getting back, his 'couple of days' had lengthened into a week and the supplies and money he had left them were finished.
Dean fingered the last dollar bill he had in his pocket. He had been at his wit's end and he had hoped that tiring out Sammy would mean that his little brother would fall into bed when they got back to the motel, forgetting about needing to eat.
Hopefully dad would turn up tomorrow morning and Sammy would get to stuff himself with his favourite foods.
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"Dean, are we nearly home, I'm tired, I can't walk any more," Sammy piped up in a slurred voice, a sure sign that he was near falling asleep on his feet.
"Hang in there, Sammy! We're almost back. You can have the biggest sleep of your life," Dean answered, trying to keep his voice light, although his heart bled for his brother's plight.
They passed the last food store before the motel and Dean felt a wave of anger wash over him. He loved his dad; he revered him as he would a hero in a comic book, but he loved Sammy more and he hated having to think up excuses for John's extended absences and late arrivals.
He knew his dad loved them but it seemed that his father's mind was always more occupied with killing monsters than with him and Sam.
Dean had only hazy memories of 'before', when his mom was still alive, and he had his own room filled with toys and stuff that would have made any child's life happy, but as he looked down at his little brother, he felt the tears filling his eyes at the thought that Sammy had never gotten even that, nor ever would.
Sam had nothing, only the occasional comic book and a worn puppy-dog soft toy of Dean's that had been forgotten in the Impala the night the fire had changed their lives forever.
He felt his brother's legs giving out as the hand holding his lost its grip, and he bent down and lifted him over his shoulder as he had done so many times before.
It was getting harder now as Sammy was growing and Dean was still a skinny kid himself, but as he pushed open the motel room door, the now sleeping Sammy limp in his arms, he swore that no matter how big Sammy got, he would always be there to hold onto his little brother and throw him over his shoulder whenever Sammy needed him to.
He lay the child down on the bed, slipped off his worn sneakers and covered him up.
He sat down on the other bed, watching the comforting rise and fall of Sammy chest and vowed that he would never treat Sammy as his Dad did. He would always be there for him and Dean knew that there was nothing he wouldn't do to keep him safe.
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When John came quietly into the room a few hours later, he found his eldest seated on the bed, waiting.
"Something wrong with Sam, Dean?" he asked in a whisper.
"No dad," was the curt reply."You told me to look out for Sammy and that's what I'm doing."
He looked his father straight in the eye with a stare that had nothing of an nine-year old child. "Someone has to," he added coldly before turning his back on his father and laying down to sleep.
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