May Angels Lead You In
Inhale. Click. Exhale. Click. Inhale. Click. Exhale. Click.
At first, the smooth, little revolver felt strange in his hand. But it was like reuniting with an old friend you haven't seen in a while. After getting past the awkward small talk, you were comfortable with each other again.
Inhale. Click. Exhale. Click. Inhale. Click. Exhale. Click.
His breaths were short pants, despite his efforts to calm down. His hand was shaking so badly, he was almost afraid that when he finally could work up the nerve, the bullet would miss his thick skull. His heart was hammering so loudly, he had to keep turning to make sure the boys hadn't been woken up.
Inhale. Click. Exhale. Click. Inhale. Click. Exhale. Click.
His big, calloused thumb slid the safety back and forth. The clicking kept him focused. It was hard to stay focused after all the whiskey he'd downed.
The funeral was done. The empty casket was buried under six feet of dirt. The small, temporary house paid for by insurance held what was left of their belongings and their family. There was no more planning to distract him anymore. The silence and emptiness began to seep in.
Inhale. Click. Exhale. Click. Inhale. Click. Exhale. Click.
How was he supposed to raise a family by himself? His training consisted of giving commands and fixing cars. How could be expected to help build science fair projects, or give advice to teenage boys going through puberty? Mary had been the sensitive one. She made him want to be a loving father. But without her, he couldn't remember how to do that.
Inhale. Click. Exhale. Click. Inhale. Click. Exhale. Click.
He cursed himself for being so weak. His eyes were beginning to droop, but his mind kicked up a notch. Get some balls, Winchester, and do it already! He took a deep, shaky breath and raised the gun to his temple. He swallowed as goose bumps raised on his back. Just do it.
"Don't do it, Daddy."
John whipped his body around to look at the source of the soft plead.
"Please, Daddy."
His four year old son looked up at him with big, shiny eyes, dragging a ratty, blue blanket behind him on the floor.
John's mind was frozen in shock. Dean hadn't spoken a word in a month, since that night. And he was sound asleep last time he had checked. When was that? An hour ago? Two? Man, he was drunker than he thought.
"Please, Daddy," he repeated. "Sammy needs you. I need you."
John's eyes pooled with tears and he looked away. Half of him felt silly and embarrassed. How could he have considered taking another parent from his boys? But the other half was tired of being on this earth, ready to move on.
"Dean, you don't understand."
Dean took a few steps closer, gazing into John's eyes, never breaking contact. But John avoided his son's deep hazel eyes. Mary's eyes.
"Sure I do. But Daddy, don't you know? Killing is a sin. And it includes yourself. And people who kill go to-" he came closer and whispered in John's ear, "hell."
Dean took a step back, but put a hand on his father's knee. "I know you wanna see Mommy again, Daddy, but you can't if you do it. You see? 'Cause she's an angel now in Heaven. Watching over us."
John wiped the tears off his face, still stunned by the words coming out of his son's mouth. The son that he was afraid had been too traumatized to speak again.
"Who taught you that?" he finally managed.
"Mommy did."
"Of course." John blinked away the last of his tears and scooped up his little boy and set him on his lap. "Well, she was right."
"So you won't do it?"
"No, son. I won't do it. I'll always be there for you and Sammy. No matter how hard it gets, I'll always be there."
Dean's still imploring eyes bore into his. "You promise?"
"I promise."
Content, Dean gave a small smile and relaxed against John, his sleepy eyelids slowly sliding shut.
Carrying Dean back to the boys' room, John realized how dumb he had been. He wasn't the only one who was missing Mary. And he was the adult, he should have been comforting his children, not the other way around. But, still, it was hard for him to feel angry at himself, when his heart was so full of pride and love. Mary was still here. She would live on in their boys.
He lay Dean down and tucked him under the covers.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
He watched the soothing rise and fall of Dean's, then little Sammy's, chests. He looked up, and quickly closed his eyes so he wouldn't see the dark ceiling, wondering if Mary, or anyone, was really watching. He sighed. If Dean still believed it, and Mary had believed it, maybe he could believe it too.
A/N: The title comes from the song "Hear You Me" by Jimmy Eat World, which I do not own. Nor do I own the characters used.
I was inspired by an interview I read today with Cathryn Humphris by Morgan's Maniacs, MM said "...John sacrificed his soul, and his only chance to ever be with Mary again to save Dean's life..." I remember when my grandpa died saying, "At least now he can finally be with Grandma Nancy again." But John never got that chance.
I'm not that great of a writer but hopefully you enjoyed that, and understood that I was trying to express that although John was far from being a perfect father, he loved those boys. Tell your dads Happy Father's Day. Thanks for reading.