Double the Trouble
John was in way over his head. Mary was gone for the weekend to the wedding of some relative, and with Sam too young to go and Dean too hyper all the time to last through half a ceremony, John had been left in charge of the kids. It was his first time handling the both of them on his own and he was beginning to feel overwhelmed. All those death-glares Mary gave him when he'd mentioned that it'd be nice if she cooked every once in awhile or if laundry was done had been well earned.
Sam was screaming at the top of his lungs. He checked for the tenth time if his diaper needed changing. He'd just fed and burped him thirty minutes ago and Sam had been napping before that. It was going on twenty minutes straight now and John was losing it. To top it all off Dean was having a full-blown meltdown because his father had been attempting to make a meal of his own and he wanted to use the extra-sharp, big-kid knife like Daddy. A plastic butter knife was dangerous in Dean's hands. Someone always got stabbed or poked. Dean got this look in his eye when he picked up a fork and all-of-a-sudden he was a trained assassin. It got so bad John and Mary had to buy finger food half the time just to avoid using utensils. The tears over being denied his weapon of choice had been fake at first, but now he'd worked himself up to the tantrum of all Dean Winchester tantrums, all stops pulled. His tantrums always reached new highs when Sam was inconsolable, as if punishing his parents for not being able to soothe his brother fast enough. John's ears were ringing from all the crying and screaming. Or was that the phone ringing? He couldn't tell. Best not to pick it up anyway, someone would think World War III had broken out. There was only one way John knew how to fix this.
"Dean, put your shoes on, we're going for a drive." John said, hoping Dean would hear him over all the noise.
"No! I don't wanna!" he raged.
John rubbed the bridge of his nose as his patience wore thin. Sam was still screaming and squirming in his arms. "Dean, now," he ordered.
"No, Daddy! You don--"
"DEAN PUT YOUR SHOES ON NOW OR SO HELP ME GOD!"
Dean stopped crying for an instant in shock. Even Sam had been frightened and relented. And then they were back in full force, adding the shock of it all on top of tantrum. But Dean put on his shoes, face contorted as he bawled.
John hadn't meant to yell at his son like that. He hated when he lost his temper. Dean was only four, he was entitled to the occasional meltdown. But my God when both of them went off it was too much.
He managed to strap Sam in his car seat, even with all the kicking and screaming, and Dean reluctantly slid in next to him. John would drive until they quieted. They had to stop sometime, right? Never in his life had he missed Mary so much. She would sing to both of them, comfort, cuddle, and love them. But John could only sit in silence and let them work it out themselves. He wanted to be a better father, he truly did, but he didn't know how to, no one had ever shown him. His dad left when he was Dean's age, and his mom never remarried. So John had to be the best he could for his boys, give them everything he never had. Even if it meant long car rides while his sons cried endlessly in the back seen of his beloved Impala, at least he was there. At least he was trying, at least he gave enough of a crap. Dean had settled finally settled down, staring blankly out the window sniffling. Sam was still whimpering, but he wouldn't last much longer.
"Finally," John sighed, as tired from the experience as his sons were.
"I'm sorry, Daddy." Dean somehow still had a voice after all that. He wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand. "I just wanna know how to use big-kid knives so I can teach Sammy one day." Sam snored lightly next to him in response.
John laughed. "Not with your track record with utensils, you're not."
Dean shrugged. "I was just pretendin'"
"Yeah, well the line between pretend and reality is pretty thin for you, kid."
Dean paused to reflect. "Can you..." he began. "Can you show me how to use 'em the right way? I promise I'll be good."
John looked in his rear view mirror as his son implored him to teach him how to be better. How could he say no to that? He smiled. "Sure kid. As soon as your brother wakes up I'll treat you guys to dinner, sound good?"
It was as if the infamous Dean Winchester Meltdown of '83 had never happened. "Yeah!" said Dean, giddy with delight.
They continued to drive around until Sam roused, Dean pointing out everything he saw in the meantime. Birds, flowers, kids playing, people mowing their lawns, Dean took it all in. He always noticed the little things in life, something John found was very peaceful to join his son in doing, something he had never done before having kids, before meeting Mary.
War changes a man, and John Winchester was no exception. He'd seen his fair share of horrors and hurt during his time as a marine. His mother barely recognized him when he came home from Vietnam, his youthful enthusiasm gone. And then he'd met Mary. They hadn't even liked each other at first, but there was something about her that drew him towards that gentle smile, those bouncing blonde curls. And now here they were, their two kids in the back of the Impala meant to be a VW van.
He sighed contently, pulling into the parking lot of a diner. Dean jumped out eagerly as his dad unfastened Sam, their quest to conquer the skills of using a fork and knife about to begin.