Disclaimer: Aright, NO. Geez.
A/N: Chapter ten! Also, Sam's POV is going to be used more, soon.
(.leave)
Vengeance's pull, the battles and the blood of who you are, build walls around you. There's an edge to your voice and an anger in your movements that fills you up. The person you are is bubbling out of your skin and you can't stay here any longer.
wWw
[The weeks have passed slowly. His fingers twitch, craving for the bottles of whiskey hidden in the back of the cupboard. Those are the ones he hasn't cracked open since Mary died and he's finding that he is not so well adjusted as to not feel the shocking snap of that all over again.
The fury that turns his veins to ice, so strong he might as well never have left Nam, can only hold out for so long. His control does not extend to himself. He's all sorts of jacked up.
This easy, calm routine of domesticity has never been for him. That becomes clearer each day as he turns his home into another training ground. The training has worked though. He's taught Dean enough to ease his wariness (panic). Dean's a soldier through and through, by instinct and by inheritance. John saw the look in his eyes when he fired that sawed-off.
Dean can keep them safe and it helps that Sam is Dean's shadow. Dean will miss John, but Dean's capable and John knows Sam wouldn't notice if he never laid eyes on John again.
So he can shed this calm now, his shaky control of self, and hunt. That's where he belongs after all- the front line of his family, shooting danger and tracking demons.
John steps over the line of salt and, luggage in hand, walks out the front door.]