A/N: For L, and as always, thanks to Mish.

Hopelessly Human

Chapter One:

It's a strange sensation, this brainstorm of youth

Though it's lost in translation from fancy to truth

Dean snuffled, turning on his side and pushing his face against his father's ribs. Sam on the other side, managed to angle himself perpendicular to the bed, feet digging into John's side. John groaned, shifting and rolling away from Dean to shift Sam on a vertical, so he'd have his head back on the pillow. God knows how the little rat managed to sleep with his head hanging on the edge, but John didn't need him falling off and breaking his pencil neck. Then he rolled back and put an arm around his eldest, feeling Dean shudder in his sleep again. The soft sniffs and shivers spoke more eloquently than any words Dean wasn't saying. Kid wouldn't talk to anyone, and any stranger came up and Dean's face was pushed into the back of John's knee. Sam was small, a full year old, and a pain in the ass. Dean wouldn't talk to anyone or look at them. John knew legally Dean needed to be in kindergarten, and that home schooling wasn't going to work very well because things just didn't work that way, but Dean refused to talk to anyone, look at them, or anything.

The most he'd done since Mary's death was curl into Pastor Jim's arms when he was asleep. Almost shouldn't count, considering when he woke up he'd almost had a panic attack, and Jim'd had to shove Dean back into John's arms while trying to take Sam at the same time. "Damnit son," John muttered, rubbing Dean's back a little, then stroking his hair. Sam squirmed again like a little weasel, managing to arrange himself so his feet were shoving against John's back, digging into the softer flesh lacking the protective ring of ribs. Unable to take it anymore, John picked Dean up and slipped out of bed, carefully shifting Sammy again so he'd stay on the bed. Pain in the ass little kid. John loved his boys, but he was tired, and he couldn't take the silence. What happened to the kid who wanted to go throw the football –even though it was bigger than he was, well, maybe not quite, but close enough. The one who chattered about every single damn thing he could think of, begging Mary to read to him. Wanted to know about this, and more importantly, never shut the hell up about every single thing Sam did. John'd been ready to choke him out, but the silence, it was so much worse.

Settling into an overstuffed arm chair, or maybe it had been overstuffed until rats and roaches got into it and stole all the stuffing, John heard it creak and prayed –as always, that the damn chair wouldn't break. Because if Dean woke up he'd be upset to have his Dad holding him like he was a 'baby' and would act even weirder. Wishing they still had a rocking chair, John hummed as best he could, knowing he couldn't hit a note to save his soul, but he'd learned when Dean was a baby that it didn't matter if he was on key so long as the notes were low. And he could do that, it was the rumbling that settled his boy. Dean quieted in his arms, snuffling again as he pushed his face into John's flannel shirt, little hands twisting into the fabric, and John winced when he lost a few chest hairs, too, feeling his eyes water. Trying to untangle Dean's fingers from his shirt so that he didn't have to lose more, Dean fussed in his sleep, starting to get restless. John started the humming again, and figured that people paid good money to have hair waxed off their bodies, and here his five year old son was taking care of it for free, in his sleep to boot. Wincing when Dean's hands fisted tighter, John stood up, rocking Dean in his arms. God he was exhausted. Sammy should be in a crib, mainly because he was a goddamn danger to himself and others in his sleep. Dean curled up in his sleep, or snuggled up. Like when he'd had nightmares, and Mary'd lift him into bed between them, and he'd curl up against her, and sometimes John slipped an arm over them both, Dean conforming so that his father could fit comfortably along side them and still hold into Mary. It was just how Dean was. Although he'd been plenty full of life, too. But, he also tended to make things easier. He'd been an easy baby, pretty happy up until every couple weeks he had some sort of bizarre temper tantrum that turned into a knock down drag out fight where John was scared he was going to kill himself, flailing around like that on the floor shrieking his head off for no reason. Mary had just said that he could do it all the time, or he could cry all the time, so the once every three week meltdown was fine, and like clockwork. They knew when to expect, and how to handle it.

Mary had teased that Dean just saved up all the 'evil' for the weekend John was most exhausted, so he knew what it was like to be a mother for a couple hours. John still didn't really appreciate that. He worked hard, damnit. Although, it was funny enough, he supposed. Dean's face seemed pale and wan, especially in the darkness. Where'd that spark gone? The one that kept him asking 'why does " insert obnoxious and pointless question here. Kissing his son's forehead, he settled his little boy back onto the bed. "Hope you have better luck than me, kiddo," John mumbled, walking over to the fridge for a beer.

Hopefully Sam wouldn't kick the crap out of his brother and wake him up. Little kid was like a friggin' tornado in his sleep. Damn shame he wasn't like that awake. Cried all the time. John figured he preferred the meltdowns. Drop of a pin, and there Sam was bawling his eyes out, Dean shushing him and trying to make him be quiet. Trying so hard, but never saying a word. Picking Sammy up, holding him. Killed John a little, but he did what he had to, and Dean, he needed something to connect to. Something to hold onto, because apparently his own father wasn't good enough. I need you, too, Dean. I need you to ask me questions until I get a headache, I need you to start playing with hotwheels again, crashing them all over the place, and leaving them out so I step on them and yell at you. Need you to ask me to read you your favorite books about cars and trains, and Godzilla, your favorite fairy tales and ask me to read you books you can't possibly understand, but we both know you just like it when I read to you. Damnit Dean, come back to me, kiddo.

He heard Dean's soft whining sound and knew Sam had managed to either shove his feet into Dean's belly, or had managed to start edging his brother off the bed. Next time maybe he'd have enough money to get a bed and a crib. Keep Sam contained in a cage where he belonged. Heard the soft thump and knew Dean had either decided to roll onto the floor, or Sam had forced him off the bed.

Slugging down a cold one, he got up, and saw Dean had a pillow, and a blanket, and was fine on the ground. "Mind if I join you there, buddy?" John asked. Dean just stared. "Can't take another kick to the kidneys." Or the balls. That was when John first knew he was going to have trouble with his youngest son.

John had stopped bothering to change out of his clothes to sleep for a long time. Generally he just slept in what he was wearing so long as nothing supernatural happened to be covering it. Curling up with Dean, the boy started to roll over, back to back, before John slipped an arm around his middle, tugging him closer. "Your old man gets cold easy, okay? You mind? Sam's got a hell of a roundhouse there in his sleep. Otherwise I'd curl up with him." Dean smiled faintly, tugging on the blanket until John lifted his arm up off of it, and tugged it around his shoulder. "Here, c'mere," he said softly, and Dean snuggled up to him. Poor kid was just getting over a nasty cold. Fortunately it was more that he was stuffed up and couldn't breathe over being some sort of snot ridden pain in the ass. Although the dry cough worried John, because it sounded horrible. But Dean was almost fine now; he just snuffled sometimes and snored softly in his sleep. Or ended up with his mouth open. Which meant drool on the pillow, but John could live with that.

"Mom!?"

John opened his eyes, having finally drifted off to sleep, it was almost daylight. Dean was sitting up, both hands over his mouth, tears running over his cheeks and onto the backs of his hands while his shoulders shook. It was the first time John'd see his boy cry since before Mary's death. "Hey," he said gently, trying to ignore the fear in his eldest's eyes when he spoke. "C'mere son, I'm here." He knew it wasn't as good as Mary. Lord knows when Dean was a baby he'd squall till he was blue in the face for his momma. John could never get him to calm down for more than a few seconds, but Mary, all she had to do was walk into the room like the angel she was, and Dean was fine. Eyes perfectly round with chubby little arms reaching out for her. He held the little boy while he cried, wishing he could help heal the hurts, but he knew his ran just as deep just as open, and just as empty. Sam slept on, thankfully. John wasn't sure he could handle both boys bawling. But Dean was quiet, he was always quiet.

"Hey, how about we hit the comic store tomorrow, you've been missing a few months worth of Spideys, now haven't you?" Dean nodded, pulling away to look at him warily. "What?" Dean just said nothing. Never did. "You like Batman better now?" John asked, raising his eyebrows. He'd forgotten. "Thought you still liked Spider-Man," John said, watching Dean shrug spindly shoulders. Kid'd thinned out, and not in a good way. He kept trying to make him eat, but often as not Dean just puked it back up before going to bed early. Didn't know how to cope with it. John figured it was shell shock. Soldier's Heart. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. He tried to cope. Looked things up in books. None of it worked. Dean just wanted his mom.

"You ever gonna talk to me again, Dean?" his boy shrugged, he didn't know. "What about Sammy? You ever gonna talk to him? Who's gonna teach him to read, huh? We both know I tricked your Mom, telling her I knew how, but lucky us you learned somewhere." He could feel Dean smile against his chest. Stroking his son's soft hair, he sighed. Dean heaved a tiny sigh, too, before snuggling his face into John's flannel shirt. And he was awake doing it. Knowing he'd made some headway, "C'mon let's get some sleep," he said, lying down and letting Dean keep his head pillowed on his chest. Pulling the blanket up over them, John slept deeply, only waking when Dean was trying to slip free of his arms to turn the alarm off before it woke Sammy and his father.

"S'okay Dean, I got it," John mumbled, trying to wake himself up as he turned the alarm off. Glancing at the day, he didn't have to work. At least not until quite a ways later. Ruffling Dean's hair gently, John laid back down, pressing his face into the pillow. He held his arm up so Dean could crawl under it and snuggle closer. They slept until Sam woke up, squalling. Groaning, John slipped away from Dean, trying to let the boy sleep, as he lifted up Sam and shushed him, walking to the small creaky yellowed fridge before pulling out a bottle of milk for the little pain in the ass. "G'morning to you too, Sam," John said, kissing his forehead when he quieted, busy with the bottle. He could hear the soft wheezing breaths that were his other son's, and he figured some cold medicine wouldn't go amiss. Once the poor kid woke up, at least.

Then a trip down to the comic store, and if the Farmer's Market was open, there might be some fresh produce nice and cheap, and maybe a treat or two for the boys. And himself. Been a while since he'd had anything that tasted good, and couldn't imagine how Dean felt. Then again he never said anything, so it hardly mattered. But he knew it did. John cared desperately about Dean's welfare. Sam was fine when he wasn't crying. So, John did his damndest to keep Sam from crying. Or to stop him when he started. Hell if Dean would just cry, that would make things so much easier, but…he was just silent. Always silent.

When both boys were up, dressed, and fed, John loaded them into the Impala. He'd forced himself to have some eggs, Dean had looked at him funny when he'd been cooking them, and sighed to find out they didn't taste so great. The boy had always watched Mary cook, he had a fascination with food. So clearly he knew something his dad didn't, and hadn't bothered to speak up. But with some coffee John was able to swallow it down. You never wasted food. Ever. Especially when he had to work so damn hard to get so little. Not like before when his job had paid well and he'd had a nice house, a wife, and plenty of good food to put on the table.

John got some weird looks in the comic book store, a single Dad with his son and a baby in his arms. He hated those looks. Hated the way people were always watching him like he was going to do something wrong or start abusing his children in the middle of the store. Just because he was a father, and not a mother. Hell, it was a comic book store, he should seem normal. Women as a stereotype didn't come into comic book stores. "Dean go ahead, find all the ones you're missing," John told him. They weren't too expensive. And he had some extra money, and it would do the kid some good, he hoped. Disappearing, it was like the kid had his own GPS system for just about everything. Never got lost, always knew where everyone else was, and always instinctively seemed to know where things were in stores he'd never been in. Drove John insane. Especially when he got lost coming back from a hunt and ended up leaving his boys alone longer than he wanted.

Following Dean to the kid's Batman comics, he watched his son pick them out carefully, turning a few pages just to make sure, holding the comics just so in his little hands. Didn't want to damage them. "These ones?" Dean nodded. John sighed. "Can you just say yes or no for me, please buddy?" he crouched down until he was eyelevel with the boy. "Your mom wouldn't like this, Dean. You gotta start talking again, okay bud? She liked when you asked all your questions, and how're you supposed to learn anything, huh? You gotta start talking for me. Just yes or no answers are okay, just talk to me." Dean nodded again, before catching himself. "Dean, that's an order." Scrubbing his free hand through his hair, he'd never said that to Dean in all seriousness before. Mary had told him that he wasn't supposed to do things like that to their son. Her boy wasn't a soldier, and he wasn't going to act like a miniature one just because his father missed the core sometimes.

"Yeah," Dean whispered, hands trembling on the thin covers.

"Let's buy those and then go wander the market stands, okay?" sometimes they sold toys and art and other trinket type things. It was a real cultural scene, and sometimes there was a rare live musician hoping for people to toss things in his hat or instrument case. But a lot of artist flocked around the market. Heaving Dean onto his other hip, he kissed his son's forehead. "Hang on tight okay?" he said, feeling a little like a horse when bony knees pressed into his sides. Considering he needed one hand free to buy the comics. Hating the way the man behind the counter looked at him, John looked at Sam, fine. Eyes wide open and soaking up the sights. Curious little bugger. Dean took the bag from the cashier without a word, and then pressed his face into John's shoulder. He hated strangers. Walking out of the store John strode quickly across the street, smiling a little at all the stands of bright white tents. "Here, walk a little," he said, letting Dean slide down his hip to walk at his side. Shifting Sam to the other arm, John switched sides with Dean to hold his hand. "Can't wait until your brother can walk," he added, seeing a faint smile twist his boy's lips. They wandered around for a while, until Dean started showing an interest in some of the food. Pointing, he dragged John over to a stall selling fresh fruit. Strawberries. John waited for Dean to say something. He knew he had to force this.

"Please?"

"Alright, what'd you want?" John asked with an easy smile, grateful for Dean's compliance. The vendor, the stereotypical gray frizzy haired gardener smiled, and sliced up a strawberry.

"You want some?" she asked Dean, coming around her table to crouch down so she was less threatening. John approved that she was quiet with his son, and gentle. The kid hated strangers, and he backed into his dad a little, but nodded. John lightly nudged him with his knee.

"Yeah," he said quietly, eyes on the ground. She held out a slice to him, and he took it carefully. Looking up at his dad for permission, which he got, he popped it into his mouth, closing his eyes in appreciation.

"I grow them myself, y'know," she told him easily. His bright green eyes focused on her face, losing some of his shyness. Shrugging a little, he looked up at John again.

"How much you recommend I get for this little fella?" John asked. He had no idea how to shop for groceries. Especially since most strawberries came in little plastic boxes. She smiled, packing up a small paper bag gently, and handing it to Dean.

"Don't squish them, okay?" Dean nodded, his green eyes serious. Money was passed over his head, and John smiled at his boy. Sam was awake all the way, and making noise like he always did. Babbling and playing with John's collar. Which was fine. If he wouldn't put the keys in his mouth, John would have handed them over as a toy. That might be something he could do for Sam, find something safe for him to play with. Although it would be one more thing for the little bug to fling across the room that he or Dean would have to go pick up and return like a game of fetch. It should be something soft and cuddly that hopefully Sammy wouldn't want to throw, or he'd go get it himself. He could crawl fine, and was working on walking. "Help me find something for your brother, okay?" John asked, Dean nodded.

John let it slide that he didn't answer this time. Letting Dean drag him to a far corner, he knew his son's instincts were always right. Several booths of homemade toys and stuffed animals and other textile works dominated the area. Dean searched through several toys, strawberries and comic books clutched carefully to his chest. After a long time, Dean selected a stuffed pig, it wasn't very big, but it was big enough Sammy couldn't eat it. Glancing at it, he looked at Sam, calculating, before selecting a different animal. Eventually he decided on a gangly armed stuffed monkey. After seriously considering a fluffy sheep, but he wasn't sure how he felt about the soft wool, and didn't want Sam to pull it out and eat it. The monkey was softly furred, with a brightly colored knitted belly, the bottoms of its feet matching, along with the pads on its little monkey hands. Dean liked it because it was smiling. Glancing at his father, he offered it to Sam, who abandoned John's shirt in favor of the stuffed animal. Playing with it, he hugged it to his chest, snuggling into John's shoulder. "Guess you picked right, huh?" John asked with a laugh, purchasing the monkey. "Anything you want?"

"No," Dean said quietly, almost sounding guilty. Toeing the ground, he was carefully holding the strawberries and comics, treating them like spun glass. John shrugged a little.

"You want to go back?"

"No."

"Can you tell me what you do want?" John asked, crouching down and letting Sammy stand up on his own for a little, considering his arms were starting to ache after holding the baby for the better part of the day.

"Explore," he said, refusing to meet his father's eyes.

"That's fine. How about I hold that stuff, and you hold your brother's hands for a bit?" Dean nodded, and they switched burdens. Dean helped Sam toddle around, his green eyes absorbing everything. He avoided anyone and everyone who looked at him and John found himself moving like some sort of bodyguard for his son, sighing a little when he noticed his behavior earning them some odd looks. Lightly resting his hand on Dean's head for a few steps, he carded his fingers through the short brown hair. They explored without mishap, and lunch became some ice cream, and a little bit for Sam, too. Along with cheerios. He was eating some other things, too, but for the most part he still liked his milk in a sippy cup or bottle. Which was fine by John, he wasn't sure how to do this whole parenting thing anyway. Dean had seemed to just magically go from being a baby to being a toddler who was fairly self-sufficient. And early on just about everything, not that Sam wasn't mostly ahead of the game, too, it seemed. Just his luck, getting two smarter than average kids that he didn't know how to handle.

When they got back to the apartment John had decided to rent for a few weeks until he got his bearings or heard of a new hunt, he settled into a chair, surprised to see Dean coming over to him, bag of comics in hand. Sam had been put down for a nap. Blinking at his son, he let Dean crawl into his lap, and took the first comic book handed him.

"Please?" Dean asked, twisting around to look at John, hands on his father's chest to keep himself twisted around so he could look up right into his father's eyes.

"How can I ever refuse you, huh, kiddo?" John asked with a slight sigh. He was exhausted, and honestly just wanted to get some sleep. But Dean was talking. Dean was acting like a kid again. And he wasn't about to sleep through that. Carefully opening the comic, Dean shifted around again, looking down at the pages and snuggling closer to his father. John started reading, smiling a little at Dean's occasional giggle at whatever it was the Joker happened to do. The panel where the villain slipped on a plantain peel and flipped off the roof, the only thing visible was an outline and giant white eyes- and then Batman rescuing him sent Dean into peals of laughter that John found completely infectious. Laughing, too, he found it hard to keep reading, although the comic was almost done. There were quite a few more. John realized with a pang that there were six comics in total. One for every month after Mary's death. Starting on the next one, he only read one more, before saying that he needed a little extra sleep, and that Dean was welcome to join him. They both curled up on the floor and John slipped into an easy sleep, feeling like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders at the sound of his son's voice.

(If you liked it, and you'd like to see more, leave me a review. Otherwise I won't know. :P)