Raised Like Warriors
Part IX. Big Day
Guenther: "Well, he was a stubborn bastard, I remember that. And, uh, whatever the game, he hated to lose, you know, it was that old marine thing. But, uh, boy, he sure loved Mary. And he doted on those kids."
May 2, 1984
John started awake when a strange sound came from the kitchen. His watch read 6:30. Birds outside were making a pre-dawn ruckus. John quickly got his scattered thoughts, reaching for a throwing knife he had started carrying in his boot. He'd spent the last night sorting through a dense volume Elkins hug up on elementals. A few incomprehensible notes in his journal marked the point when he had dozed off. There was something odd about the translation which was troubling him. It would probably be better to track down the original, or at least a previous copy. Not that John's Latin was all that good, but he was learning.
John pushed these thoughts to the back of his mind as he cautiously entered the kitchen. He silently moved passed the threshold. At first he didn't see anything. He reached out a hand for the switch and snapped on the florescent light.
The father forced himself to relax when Dean's head popped up from where he was digging in the cupboard for something. John quickly slipped his knife back into its hiding place, changing gears as quickly as he could.
"Hi dad." Dean said, uncertainly.
"Dean, what are you doing?" John asked, looking mournfully at his watch.
"Is it morning?" Dean asked, glancing out the window where the sun was slowly rising about the horizon.
"Almost," said John, smiling. "Why? You got a big day planned?"
Dean grinned as John's good humor returned, only slightly forced. He made room for John to get to the coffee maker.
"I'm making a cake!" he said excitedly.
"You are?" John replied with exaggerated enthusiasm as comprehension dawned. "For Sammy?"
"It's his birthday," said Dean knowledgably.
John nodded in agreement, internally cracking up at Dean´s seriousness. On an impulse he scooped the five year old up in his arms and tickled him, eliciting the giggle that served to remind father and son that Dean was still 5, not quite the 40 he sometimes strove for. As the spasms subsided, Dean´s small form melted against John´s shoulder and the father was rewarded for the attack with a big hug, the kind that the young father had forgotten he needed once in a while. John squeezed back, trying to hold onto the feeling of warmth that the boy had brought to he heart. He kissed the boy´s short hair and released him. Dean scrambled up on a stool and looked across the kitchen counter at his father.
"Well, buddy, cake isn't really a breakfast food." Besides we don´t have the ingredients.
Dean´s face fell.
"How do you think the birthday boy would feel about some pancakes?" John asked and smiled when the grin returned.
"With chocolate chips?" Dean asked, enthusiasm skyrocketing once again.
"You bet." John agreed, eyes twinkling. "But Dean..."
"Yeah?" Dean asked, sobering.
"I don´t want you to wake up Sam till he´s really ready, okay?" The five year old had a tendency to let his enthusiasm get the better of him.
"Yeah, else he´ll be crabby, huh?" Dean agreed.
"Yep." John said, letting his gaze fall on the pile of dishes in the sink and his thoughts turn to pancake recipes. "You want to go watch cartoons while I take a shower?" John prompted.
Dean nodded, the relief of having birthday celebration taken off his already over burdened shoulders showing in his relaxed demeanor. John watches as the boy padded over to the television. Dean turned it on and when prompted, turned down the sound. John knew the five year old was just humoring him, the TV could only hold his attention for 30 minutes or less, so John quickly ducked into the shower. He let the hot water melt away the stiffness in his abused muscles, let his tired mind adjust to the prospect of another day. He was suddenly sick of thinking about demons and ghosts, ached with the guilt of six months without results and frustration that his prey still eluded him. The thoughts jumbled a bit and mixed with dark emotions, but John refused to give into them.
Today his baby was turning one year old. One year ago he had been the happiest man in the world. John could still remember the stale hospital air, the first sight of his son, red and squirming. He had shared his baby´s first breath, unaware that he had been holding it. Mary´s hair had been damp with sweat, eyes gleaming with emotion when she had held their son for the first time. Sam had warmed to them slowly, opening his eys to look distrustfully at the world. Dean had been ecstatic at first, but soon an interrupted night´s sleep caught up with him and he snuggled up next to his mother and baby brother. John, proud father, had taken tons of pictures, but that was the one he treasured most. That room, so full. That time, when John had been something more.
John shook off the melancholy and turned his back on the gaping wounds that surfaced with each memory. He turned his attention to practical matters like shaving and laundry and pancakes. It was a Saturday morning, clear skies promised warmth. John decided to take the kids to the zoo. They hadn't been since Mary died-- Actually, Sam had never been, thought John as he emerged from the bathroom.
He quickly dressed and was down in the kitchen when his sharp ears picked up a wail from Sam's room. Drying his hands, John took the stairs two at a time, realizing he was as impatient as Dean to see the one year old. Opening the nursery door, John was heartened when Sam's wails subsided at the sight of his father. Sam had maneuvered so he was pulling himself up on the bars of the crib. Little arms went up in a demand to be liberated, causing the precarious balance to be lost. John scooped the baby up, smiling proudly down at his son.
"Da Da." Sam said by way of greeting.
"Hey there, buddy." Cooed John, smiling down at the one year old. Sam's curious eyes took in the morning light skeptically. Sam was slow to wake up, preferring to snuggle with his father or Dean while he took stock of the day and sucked down some warm milk. John rubbed the sleep sweat from the baby's head and changed him into clean diapers and clothes before wrapping the boy in a blanket and carrying him down stairs. Sam's tiny hands clung appreciatively to John's collar and he nestled sleepily into his father's arms.
This is it, though John as he warmed milk for Sam, this is the reason that life is still worth living. While the microwave whined, he rinsed a top for the bottle, giving it to Sam to hold while they waited.
"Look, Da Da" Sam demanded, holding out the top for John's inspection.
"Yeah." John agreed. "Dean," he called, "do you want milk or juice?"
"Juice," Dean called back.
John made up a sippy cup of orange juice for Dean, watering it down a little and noting that they were running low. He poured a cup of coffee for himself and headed out to the living room with Sam, who was already sucking hungrily on the bottle. Dean made room on the couch and snuggled up close to John's side. He kissed Sam on the forehead, saying excitedly, "Happy Birthday Sam"
"Dean!" Exclaimed Sam cheerfully, returning with a slobbery kiss of his own, which Dean wiped away theatrically. The three Winchesters settled in to watch X-men and afterwards John made pancakes which weren't half bad, especially when drenched in syrup and topped with chocolate chips.
When the syrup was wiped away to avoid ant infestation, jackets were collected and the boys were strapped into the car. Sam gurgled happily, chattering to himself all the way to the zoo. Dean's excitement was evident as he tried to prepare his young, inexperienced brother for the wonders that awaited them.
John picked up a disposable camera at the gift shop, gifting the baby with a sunhat and a stuffed tiger while he was at it. Dean got a t-shirt for being so patient. John was a little confused about why there was a dinosaur on it, made sure that Dean was aware that those animals were extinct but couldn't deny the excited look on Dean's face. John played the proud father for a day, trying not to think about how much of this was compensation for his previous failures.
Both boys crashed on the way home and after a long nap and a festive bath, John took them out for dinner. Shirley, their usual waitress, served up a mean couple of plain hamburgers with ketchup, followed by chocolate cake with a candle that Dean helped Sam blow out. John took a couple more pictures and Shirley even got one of the three of them before the family slipped home, exhausted.
Before he fell asleep that night, John checked in on the boys, sleeping gustily in bed and crib. The flush of the day was on their cheeks and for once they were undisturbed by dreams or nightmares made real. John looked at Sam seriously, checking his baby for sings of growing up. He didn't know if he was up for it all again-- the potty training, walking, talking, talking-back, hunting? He was so alone with it all. And Dean would have to go to school soon, terrifying as that sounded. Strange that these beautiful, perfect children could depend on something as flawed as him, could love something as flawed as he was.
"Goodnight, Sammy." John whispered, kissing the boy's head before leaving his research for one night and falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Author's note: Pretty much the obligatory birthday scene, though I decided to give John a break ´cause he really does love those kids after all. Send me a review.
