Title: Darkened Hearts
Rating: Pg-13
Genre: Gen/AU
Beta: Jelliclefreak
Disclaimer: Everyone belongs to their creators. Yep.
Summary: John's hands moved through Dean's soft brown strands, moving the bangs away from the young boy's forehead, his fingers careful not to press against any of the bruises that littered the right side of Dean's face. Sam laid in a tight ball next to Dean; his small hands clenching his brother's arm tightly.
Word Count: 1856
John's hands moved through Dean's soft brown strands, moving the bangs away from the young boy's forehead, his fingers careful not to press against any of the bruises that littered the right side of Dean's face. Sam laid in a tight ball next to Dean; his small hands clenching his brother's arm tightly.
He could remember when the two of them were still little; Dean holding Sam's small, choppy hands as he instructed his little brother on how to walk. The smile on the chubby face when Dean would tell him good job was forever burned into John's mind, a memory that could easily get him through his rough times.
There used to be so much life in his boys.
The first time he had left his son's with his brother was only a temporary arrangement. He was going to meet Caleb after Missouri had directed him to the man. He had only been gone a few days, long enough to drive the distance, get information and answers then drive back.
The second time he met Caleb, the man had given him a lead on something that might point him to Mary's murderer. He had been gone a week at the very shortest, probably much longer than that but time seemed to merge together and erase the lines of night and day, especially back in those days where nothing was clear except for Mary and his boys.
His boys.
For the briefest of moments his hand tightened into a fist in Dean's hair, pulling at the strands only to stop when he heard the small whimper escape from his sleeping son. His son who should still, rightfully, be a toddler. He had missed so much time with them; wasted that time away. Dean was a teenager now, just a few inches shorter than John himself. His body was well toned, ready for any fight that came his way… and anger had left its permanent stain on his now cold green eyes.
It had been maybe a year worth of an off and on again relationship with his sons when his brother's wife had asked if he would sign over temporary guardianship of the two over to them. She had asked in a soft voice that had reminded him completely of Mary when she would bring up topics that he wouldn't likely agree on. It had brought tears to his eyes as she continued on that it wasn't adoption, nowhere close to it, just gave them permission to bring them to the doctor, put Dean into school next year, let them play sports.
Of course there had been some anger in his body at that time, who had she thought she was to suggest such a thing? But somewhere between her explaining why it was a good idea and walking into the room to be greeted with the scene of Joanne playing with his two boys, trying to make a pet doggy out of the play dough for Dean's ball of a man and trying to keep Sammy from putting the pretty green dough in his mouth, he realized that this just might be a good place for the two.
He knew Mary would approve, knew that for a fact from the bottom of his heart. She had considered Joanne the next best thing to a sister. The only thing holding him back was the fact that he wouldn't be near his boys.
Then again, he had only been with them a total of two months out of twelve so was it anything different? He had already missed Sammy's first steps, it seemed a bit early to him for Sam to start walking, but Dean had been so proud, pulling John around and trying to convince Sammy to do it again. Who, of course, stubbornly stayed planted on his butt or hands for anyone but Dean.
Most of the time, when he was in town, he would sleep in the same house as his boys but some nights, like the night after Joanna had pleaded her case to him, he would stay at some seedy motel near them just long enough to clear his mind. It was his escape when he'd hear stories of missed moments in his son's lives like little baby Sammy actually calling Joanna Mama or when Dean had given the little girl next door a bundle of flowers. When he came back to their house, he was greeted with the sight of Mark trying to teach Dean how to shoot a basketball correctly, his big hands covering Dean's as he explained how he should aim patiently.
He signed the papers soon after that morning.
Now, now he regretted the decision to sign those papers. As long as Joanna had been alive it had been worth it, seeing smiles on both of their faces when he came home to visit. John wasn't so sure the smiles would be there had they come along for the ride. But, to a man who was obsessed with the supernatural, he had never considered the natural things that took lives to be dangerous.
---
An eleven year old boy with dusty blond hair ran through the brightly lit house; his backpack was resting by the front door, completely forgotten about in his haste. The smile that had been permanently planted on his face today had fallen for only the briefest second when he hadn't smelt the familiar smell of a just baked cake but that could just mean Joanna had baked it earlier and the smell had left with the hot air out the windows.
He was up the stairs and almost to her bedroom before he noticed that the house was completely silent. It had never been quiet; there wasn't a time that his young mind could remember where there was no music playing or the sound of a TV echoing through the walls. Not even the sound of talking or laughter.
Completely silent.
His feet slowed down, trying to figure out if the house was empty. He knew he was suppose to have waited at the school to be picked up but he had gotten bored waiting for someone to drive by; Sammy had stayed home sick and there was nothing there to occupy his brain. He always hated waiting for that old pickup to drive up in front of the school when Sam had come down with something or other.
Sammy was always sick lately, puppy dog eyes convincing Joanna to let him stay home for the day so he could get babied to his little heart's delight. He wondered how Sammy managed to do it every time because when Dean would get home he would be instantly well, jumping around and trying to convince Joanna that he was feeling good enough to horse play with Dean… and she would laugh as Dean tried to tell Sammy that he couldn't get sicker.
He had gotten tired of waiting so he had walked home, very careful of crossing the busy intersection. He felt proud of the fact that he'd only gotten honked at once and that was because the man was running a red light. Uncle Mark always complained when people did that. He wasn't sure why Mark had been late to get him, didn't want to think on it really. The only time his uncle was ever late picking him up from school was when he would take Sammy to the doctor.
"Sammy?" He called out quietly, eyes darting around the hallway to his brother's bedroom door, expecting for the little boy to come bounding out instantly.
Instead, after he took a few more steps towards the closed door, his brother who was usually full of energy came running out of their uncle's room, tears pouring from his eyes. Tiny little arms wrapped around Dean's thin waist, squeezing the air out of him as if Dean was some kind of golden stuffed toy. His hand went into the younger boy's dark hair, rubbing it gently as he asked what was wrong in the softest voice he could muster.
He kept his eyes locked onto the top of Sammy's head, trying to decipher what he was saying, trying to understand the broken words that came with the shaky voice. The only thing he could understand was the words Jo, which was what Sammy had taken to calling their aunt once he could talk.
When he finally looked up from Sam he was greeted with the sight of his uncle, looking as if the world had just ran him over, tears that matched Sammy's barely held back in those big eyes.
With the words that left Uncle Mark's mouth, he forgot that today was his eleventh birthday and that Uncle Mark was suppose to teach him how to hold the hunting rifle after they'd all had cake.
---
John had never considered the fact that his brother was more like him than he'd ever thought before. He had never considered that, once Joanna had passed away, he would fall the same way John had. It never once crossed his mind that just because it was a natural death the anger wouldn't be there.
He, himself, had taken to the bottle after Mary's death; finding his solace in the bitter burn of whatever alcohol he could find, the sting of cheap beer, the twist in his stomach gut as the whiskey hit an empty stomach. It had never once replaced the pain that the image of Mary brought, nor had it effectively replaced the love. It simply reduced the pain. He only chose to cut down after some little creature almost took his head because, to him, the world was spinning in circles.
It never occurred to him that his brother would choose the same thing, make the same mistake he had, and through all of the years that he had left his boys with Mark after Joanna's death he had never suspected that his brother had become an alcoholic.
How couldn't he have seen the facts that were laid out right in front of his nose when he could find even the most complicated connections between things?
A soft sigh escaped his lips as he removed the water filled bag from Dean's wrist, thankful that the swelling had gone down, before moving quietly to the sink to empty it and fill it from the bucket. Then he was back at his son's side, the three of them curled up together on the single bed in the room.
Tomorrow, tomorrow he would call the police from a payphone to let them know that Mark was tied up in the basement of his own home and then he would take his two children to the other end of America, as far away from here as possible; as far away from Mark as possible
Another glance down at his eldest son's battered face left him wondering how Mark could dare do this to Dean, his own flesh and blood.
TBC
Kay
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