Part 10

Dean cackled as he settled in the ditch. "Shit, that was awesome."

He'd been drunk and drunker for weeks. John was fairly certain that Dean didn't even know where they were. So, it was with great guilt that John steered the Impala while Dean slept it off. He knew where he was going even if he didn't plan the route out. He pulled into the motel and checked in to the room they'd had before. It was vacant. He dropped his things in the room and hesitated before he walked down the walkway to the ice machine. He stared at the door for a full minute and a half before he knocked on the door. It was early and he should have waited but the guilt had been eating him up inside. It was a sleepy-eyed Liz Parker who answered the door. Her brown eyes went wide and she tried to see around him. "John, where is he?"

"In the car. Sleeping it off." John shrugged. "Figured I'd let you know we were here so I could get some sleep and y'all could… do what you do."

"John?" Liz stared up at him.

"I'm tired. I'm going to bed. Good to see you, Liz." John tipped his head at her and turned to go back to his room.

"John, is he okay?" Liz started after him.

He paused at his door to look at her. "No, he's not."

She nodded and made her way down to the Impala without bothering to put shoes on her feet. John didn't wait to see the reunion. He'd have to shoot himself if he watched just how much pain he'd caused his oldest son.

--

The air was too still. John had attempted to go get some lunch when he woke but when he'd passed the ice machine, the noises were just too much. They echoed in his head and he was so wrapped up in what he shouldn't do and what he wanted to and what he needed to do. So John picked up his bottle. John packed his bag. He didn't know where he was going but he was going without Dean.

Walking was always good and since he'd busted his leg, he'd needed to get it working again. The pins caused him pain now and again but going in for removal was just unthinkable. The bottle kept him company through most of the night. Then he'd gotten so turned around that nothing looked familiar. He'd stopped and napped to get his strength. Then he'd walked the better part of a day to end up just where he'd started. No key cause he'd left it behind. Figured Dean'd let the room go. He rented it anew and hauled his sorry ass upstairs to get cleaned up. Liz's room didn't have an answer when he'd knocked. Then he'd started to worry. Bought himself a fresh bottle and parked it upstairs to wait.

John watched the sun go down on the Catskills and wondered where the hell Dean was. No answer on his cell. No trace of him in town. John had made his way through half the bottle when the sun had gone its way and night set in. The light overhead didn't work and shadows engulfed everything. He barely noticed the woman who leaned on the corner wall. She didn't say a word, just stared out at the night with him, her face hidden from him by the shadows. Idly, he wondered how long she'd been standing there. "Nice night for a drink."

"That it is." He mumbled.

"Mind if I join you, handsome?"

"Do as you will."

"I might take you up on that, stranger."

John's whiskey-addled brain could focus on no more than the curves of her hips as she walked over and took his bottle from him. No light to reveal her face when she faced him to hand the bottle back. What the hell? There was no harm in getting some while he could. It would take his mind off the little lady that he couldn't have. He gripped the neck of the bottle over her hand and tugged her closer. She didn't stumble; she swung her leg over both of his with practiced ease. She gripped the bottle and tipped it into his mouth, leaning down to catch what she spilled over his chin. Her other hand slid down his chest, flicking open buttons at random and sliding her fingers in to brush his chest and stomach.

John set the bottle aside, swallowing before letting her take his mouth. Hair fell all around his face as she settled on his lap, grinding against his crotch. John lifted his hands to her face, turning her face away so he could taste the skin of her neck. Let his hands fall down her body, over a handful of breast, curve of waist into hips, thighs to the edge of a skirt. Fingers splayed across soft ass cheeks, John let her rock against him. Let her tease him. Let her fingers do their walking across his chest, pausing to rub and flick his nipples, run along his abs and down to tear at the buttons on his jeans.

Her mouth mashed against his as her hands tugged his jeans out of the way, shoved his boxers down. Warm, soft hands on his hard flesh, pumping while he tasted her breath, her mouth, her skin. Sweat and bacon grease and the tang of perfume. John tried to pull her hips against his but she backed away, sliding off his legs and pulling away from his mouth. No warning what so ever before her hot mouth slid over the head of his cock. Fingers brushing through her hair, John let her go to it. Tipping his head back against the slide of her tongue on the underside of his erection. Moaning when the suction was just that good. Hips bucking when her lips pressed in the middle, tongue fluttering along the throbbing vein.

John tried to gently pull her off but with a shake of her head, she took him in deeper. Frowning at the movement, John could feel his balls tightening. Her hands slid around his wrists, pulling his hands out of her hair. His eyes focused on her hands around his wrists. His mind's eye saw a pair of golden wrists inside the same pair of hands. Before he could fully process what that meant, John's mouth hung open and he came hard into a humming mouth.

When he was able to form thoughts again, she was sitting on his lap, fingers pulling open the remainder of his shirt buttons, mouth smoothing over his neck then blowing her salty breath into his mouth before taking his mouth, letting him taste himself on her tongue. She hummed as she pulled away. "John, it's been a long time."

"Liz?" John's shaking hands found their way to either side of her face.

"Of course it's me." She settled herself heavily against him. "Who else gets you off in public?"

Her voice had a bit of warning in it. Licking his lips to wet them, suddenly gone dry, he stared up at her. "Thought I was dreaming."

"How much have you drunk?" She picked up the bottle to look at it. "Don't tell me this is a new bottle."

"Maybe."

"John, you know you shouldn't drink so much." She leaned even heavier against him and capped the bottle.

He stared at her. Still unsure what he was seeing. What he was experiencing. She was different somehow and not just in what she'd just done to him. "Been calling Dean."

Her eyes softened and she buried her face in his neck. "John, don't drink so much."

"Liz?"

"John, you know he's gone. Come home. See Jack. He misses you."

"Maybe." He hedged.

She looked away, blinking back tears, biting her lip in a way that was no sort of good. "John, you're the only father he's ever known. He only knows Dean from pictures. He needs you. He's getting to the age where my talks do nothing for him. He needs you. You were a good father, I think. You said you'd try to do it again… but I don't see you trying and that hurts me more than you staying away for so long." She stood and straightened her clothes. "And I'm not mad. I'm disappointed."

John watched her disappear around the corner and wondered what in the hell had happened. Suddenly sober, he looked over the town. The tree overgrown and blocking his sight. He stumbled back to the room and called the front desk. "Sorry to bother you ma'am, but could you read me the date, including the year? Numbers get stuck in my head sometimes." He waited as she read the numbers off. "Thank you, darlin'."

Hanging up the phone, he picked up his bag and walked down the path to Liz's room by the ice machine. It was vacant when he picked the lock. Looked unused. He walked out and glanced around. She had known where he was. How had she known? Then he spotted the lights on in a set of windows over a store that was closed. Hiking up the stairs, he waited outside the door but thought better and snuck a peek through the window. Liz stood over the table, rubbing her lower back while she listened to the boy at the table read out loud from a book that was laid open. She smiled and said something that John couldn't hear. There was a roll of the head and shoulders that made John's heart leap. That boy was every inch Dean Winchester's son. John Winchester's grandson. His grandson… growing up without his daddy. Dean's ashes long salted, burned and scattered.

That's what made the dots connect. That boy was about ten years old. Those trees had grown. Those woods. John turned and stared off into them. What did they do? Was it magic? Was it haunted? Was it Reapers or Djinn? He walked back into them. Sober and surefooted. He walked a path that he had made a year earlier. At dawn he emerged at his starting point. His true starting point. He climbed the stairs and there they were. Drinking coffee on the landing. He edged past to put his pack away and wash up. He joined them, drinking the coffee and drinking in the sight of the two of them.

John stared at her. 21 and not a line on her face; not a grey hair on her head. Not a lustful look tossed in John's direction. Liz laughed at something Dean said and reached out to shove John away. Her hand connected with his stomach, causing him to tense up. Liz stared at him. "Wow, Papa Winchester is Papa Six-pack."

"Dad, been working out?" Dean punched him in the arm.

"Keeping in shape." John shrugged them off and removed Liz's hand from his shirt. He looked at Dean's smile. Genuine and bright and not the moody brat who had shared his space since last they had seen Liz.

"You out catting around last night?" Dean ribbed him. "Found an alley cat to howl with?"

"Dean!" Liz screeched and slugged him. "That is none of our business."

"What? You agreed that he walked up here smelling like sex."

"Dean!" Liz slugged him again. "Stop it. That's inappropriate."

John felt his face turning red. He sipped his coffee and ignored Dean's jibes just so that he could listen to his firstborn talk. Listen to him laugh and breathe and love that woman while he could. John vowed that whatever it took, his boy would not be dead while his child was growing up without him.

"What's that?" Dean frowned at his father.

John drained his cup. "I said, well it's not like I was the only one."

"You guys are horrible!" She exclaimed and shoved off the rail. "I'm going to go get some lunch."

Dean leaned on the railing and sipped his coffee. The silence was not heavy and John was grateful for it. "Nice surprise, waking up to her face. Even better not waking up to yours."

"Right back at you, son." John stared into his cup.

--

John buried himself in his books. Studying and not talking. Dean knew enough to leave him to it. Didn't ask. Just enjoyed the time he'd been allotted with Liz. John couldn't find anything in the books, local lore, about time shifts or possessed woods or sprites. None of the signs matched. It made John wonder if the woods were a man-made phenomenon or if it were so old no one knew or if it were enchanted so that no one remembered. Then it happened. John saw the signs he was beginning to recognize. He hauled Dean out of bed in the middle of the night to go chasing it.

Dead end. Dean was quiet but not silent about it. That was better than silence. Dean did as ordered. He didn't complain but John felt the weight of his stare occasionally. So after the hunt. John sent Dean on a small series of hunts. Told him to meet up at Liz's in two months. John spent the time alone, doing his homework. Studying lore in everyone's libraries, getting chased off when they couldn't take his entitlement issues anymore.

Then there was only one thing to do. Go back. John drove to a town away and hiked back to the woods. He was ready. He had to know what and why and how. If he could stop it, he would. His mind raced as he stepped through time. Where was Sam? Was Sam safe? How did his oldest son die? Why was there a child from Liz's womb who would look to John as father? Why any of it?

--

John stepped into the room slowly while Liz bustled about getting things done. He'd already agreed to stand in as babysitter but he'd never met the kid. He wandered about carefully, eying toys and scanning for pictures. Which he found on one high shelf and along the same wall. Pictures from the last ten years. Pictures that surprised him.

Dean with the baby. Broad smile, bright green eyes tinged with wetness.

John with the baby, not even looking at the camera. Eyes only for the first grandson. First son of his first son.

John, Liz and a toddler in the front lot, sitting on the car.

John sitting with Liz on his lap, her head leaning against his, the boy sitting on John's other leg.

John and the boy trying a bicycle out, no training wheels.

John asleep with the toddler asleep on his chest

The kid and Liz playing with a bunch of blocks.

John tossing a ball with the kid.

Tears sprung to his eye as he realized everything that he'd not been able to do with his boys when they were growing up because of his bent on vengeance. Little league, soccer, dribblers, riding bikes, boy scouts.

"John, stop looking at those pictures. You always start leaking like a faucet." Liz called out. John wiped at his face. "I was just kidding." She stepped into the room and froze. "John? Were you actually crying?"

"Dean…" John gestured to the pictures. "Never seen him look so happy and then… to just…"

"Yeah." Liz nodded, pulling her purse over her shoulder. She stepped into John's side, stroking softly against his back. She kissed his shoulder and gave his belly a rub. "He's pouting in his room. I didn't tell him you were here yet. Thought I'd give you a few minutes to strategize."

"Okay." John nodded and tried not to freeze up when she leaned in for a goodbye kiss. He watched her go. Then he studied the pictures for another long moment then snuck down the hallway to find 'the kid.' He was indeed pouting in his room, glaring at his homework and rolling a pencil around on the desk. John cleared his throat. "What kind of marks are you gonna get if you put off doing your homework?"

"Pop!" Jack spun around and raced for the door. John was barely able to stop both of them from toppling over. "When did you get back?"

"Just a few minutes ago." John hugged the boy back. "The warden's gone to work."

"Did she tell you what I did?"

"Why don't you tell me what you did?"

"It was… never mind."

"Come on, pal. Tell me."

"Some guy at school said something and I hit him."

"Okay. What did he say?"

"Well, I got a question first."

"What's the question?"

"What's 'white trash' mean?"

John stared at the boy for a long moment. "Lots of times… it's about people who live dirty cause they don't know better or can't afford to live clean." He took a breath. "Sometimes it's the way people behave, without regards to rules. The thing is… the people who say other people are white trash… they just plain don't understand that the needs and means of others are different." John hoped he made some kind of sense because he suspected that he already knew where this was going.

"A boy at school said our family is white trash." And there it was.

"I figured as much." John nodded. "It's really best not to respond when someone says that because it only reinforces their belief but I might have done the same thing."

"Why'd he call us that? We don't live dirty."

"Like I said… sometimes it's not about dirty or poor… it's other things."

"Like what."

"Son… Me and my boys been called all sorts of trash all their lives. Because I don't stay in one place too long. Cause they think I beat my kids, cause I drink a lot more than anyone should. Cause I own a lot of guns." Took a deep breath. "Some said I killed my wife. Some say I was never married and my boys was from different mothers."

"And that made them trash?"

"To some people. Yeah."

"So… they might not understand why you don't got a job?"

"Maybe."

"Or that you're my grandpa but I say Happy Father's day to you?"

"Possibly."

"The kid said it was because my mom loves my grandpa more than she did my dad."

"That's not true but I understand why you hit him."

"Does he think it's wrong?" The boy blinked. "That you're… in love with my mom?"

"A lot of people do."

"Why?"

"Because it's not normal."

"Why?"

"Because other kids' dads don't die young." John sank onto the narrow bed. "Because it's not what families do." It was clear the boy didn't understand. If John had actually been the Winchester who had raised the boy, he might have been able to answer better, but he wasn't. "Jack… I met your mom the same day your dad did. She and I became good friends."

"And my dad?"

"Well, they were better than friends." John had himself a grin at the memory of his son's love struck face. "I don't know if your mom ever told you but she was married before."

"She was?"

"To a man that I've never met. She was young and it didn't last long. She thought she would never fall in love again. Then she met your dad." John cleared his throat. "My wife died when your dad was a little boy. I never remarried and I never really loved again. After we both lost your dad, we stuck together because we were hurting without him. You were only a few months old."

"So?"

"So, we spent a lot of time together with a very painful and significant thing in common. You're too young to get the boys and the girls and the feelings but your mom and me… we shared love. For your father, for you and for each other after a time. It's not normal… and that's why that boy at school said what he did." John touched the boy's shoulder. "It's not normal but it don't hurt no one."

--

John looked through everything that Liz had but couldn't find any clue to what had killed his first born son. It made him wonder. Then Jack came out of his room and perched on the arm of the couch. John held up the picture. "Jack, tell me what you know of this guy and maybe I can tell you some more."

Jack shrugged. "He's my dad."

"Know anything more than that?"

"He died cause a Werewolf bit him and he… needed to be shot." Jack's eyes lowered. "Mom said you did it but that…"

"It had to be done. There's no cure for a Werewolf bite. Your dad… he knew that. He was my boy and I would have done anything to keep him alive." John stared at the picture of his boy and his boy. "I had a picture like this once." Jack sat, transfixed. "Of me holding your dad and I can guarantee I looked just like that. Loved my boy."

John found his seat and found Jack on his lap a moment later. "Your grandma was a pretty woman. Different from your mom. She was blonde and she had green eyes. Stole my heart the minute she said she'd go out with me."

"How'd she die?"

"Demon."

"How did Mom meet Dad?"

"I got tired of your dad yapping my ear off and I pulled over to eat some breakfast. Your mom was our waitress."

"Wow. She's worked there a long time, huh."

"All your life and then some."

"When did they get married?"

"Never legally. Common law. That means that they acted like husband and wife and did that for a long while. It's not… accepted in this state but um… your dad was a citizen of the country, not the state. Probably your mom, too. They had their own rules. She took his name and you have it on your birth certificate."

"Jack Samuel Winchester."

"That's right." John felt his throat close up at the sound of his second son's name on the lips of his grandchild.

"Mom says that I'm named Jack after you. Why Samuel?"

"It's time for bed, kiddo." John avoided that question and the boy let him. Every inch his father's son. He never disobeyed an order. Jack simply kissed his grandfather's face and hopped to the ground. A moment later, John heard the door shut. Then he heard the footsteps. "How long have you been hiding in the kitchen?"

"Not long." Liz leaned over him. "Busy night all around, huh. I'm gonna shower. Meet you in bed."

John didn't know what to do with that. But his weary bones made it from the couch to check the doors and windows. To the bed where he shucked his boots and jacket. He didn't do more than lay back on the pillows when she emerged in a long flannel nightgown and scooted across to lay her head on his shoulder. "I try to tell him about Dean. He wants to hear about you. He'll listen to you if you talk about Dean."

"I'll try that."

"I know that you just got in but…" Liz snuggled close. "I am in the mood but… it's that time… so if you can hold out a couple of days, I can greet you proper."

John stared down at the top of her head. "That time?"

She picked up her head and rolled her eyes. "Ovulation time."

"Right." He hoped he could fake his way through this conversation because he had no clue what that was about.

"Our family tree has some interesting forks in it; I'm not looking to add any more." She pointed out.

"Of course. Right."

"You okay?"

"Tired." John struggled to put the pieces of the puzzle together but he wasn't altogether convinced that he wasn't dreaming or hallucinating. He wondered what would happen if he fell asleep in this world. Would he wake up in his own world? Was there even a difference?

TBC