Raised Like Warriors

Part XXI. Biggest Fears

John: You are my children. I'm trying to keep you safe.
November 16, 1984

Dean flopped down in the front seat next to John, letting out some of the pent up energy from sitting at a desk too long.

"How was school?" John asked, as he pulled away from the curve. That was what parents were supposed to ask, right?

"It s- was icky." Dean replied unenthusiastically.

John tried not to grin. Yep, that was pretty much how he remembered it, too. At least nowadays they weren't allowed to hit you with rulers. "Yeah, well. Only twelve and a half more years," he teased.

At Dean's look of mute horror, John chuckled and reached over to affectionately ruffle the boy's hair. "Thanksgiving's coming up," he commented, having received a call from his sister as a reminder. "Do you want to go to visit Aunt Kate?"

"No." It was emphatic enough to bring another grin to John's face, but not enough that he felt the need to reprimand.

"Yes!" Sammy said from the back, but more to be contrary than anything else. He couldn't really remember his aunt too well. They hadn't been back to Kansas in months. His father and brother ignored him, but Sam didn't notice because he was distracted by dog he saw out the window and was straining in his carseat to get a better view.

John's sister was great, really. It was just that she pushed a little too hard, didn't really know what to do with her mentally unsound, soldier-boy brother and his reserved, grieving son. Her own boys were enough to deal with and John knew Dean felt a little lost among their hollering and bickering. Okay, so that's out, John thought with relief.

"Dean! look!" Sam broke in, pointing a chubby finger at the crossing sign for the train tracks. "Choo Choo!"

Dean glanced out the window and murmured his acknowledgement, "Yep, it's a train track." Sam didn't notice his lack of enthusiasm, but grinned happily.

"What about Pastor Jim's?" John asked, returning to his earlier line of questioning.

"Yes!" Sam voted again, louder this time. But Dean's scowl deepened at that, too.

"What?" John demanded with a little irritation, not understanding.

"Can't we stay with you?" Dean said, his voice barely above a whisper.

I'm not gone that much, John thought, alarmed at the panic in Dean's plea. "Yeah, kiddo. We'll spend it together," he placated and tried to pretend that he hadn't been planning on checking out the fires in Chicago. The reporter had been pretty convinced it was just a simple case of arson. Probably it was nothing. While he couldn't quite convince himself to drop it altogether, John knew that it could wait. There were other nasties which wouldn't require more than a night and maybe a late morning away from his kids. He could stick around for his son.

Dean rewarded him with a relieved smile and lapsed into contented silence.

"Hey Dad?" he asked after a moment.

"mm hmm?"

"Can I spend the night at Josh's house on Friday?"

John was surprised. While Dean seemed to derive some enjoyment from telling him about how what's-his-name made himself sick by eating glue or how some kid in his class had laughed so hard milk came out his nose, John had never gotten the impression that Dean had any real friends at school. And weren't they way too young for sleep-overs. The thought made his blood run cold.

Dean was uncannily good at reading his father's silence, 'cause he huffed a little. "I'm not a baby, Dad," he insisted, bottom lip protruding just the slightest.

John raised his eyebrows slightly at the tone, trying to think on his feet. He didn't know that Dean's protest was mainly an act.

Dean and Josh got on fairly well. Dean liked to play kickball during recess and they were the two best players from kindergarten. Even the big kids picked them early for teams. Josh had invited him over yesterday when Miss Olson blew the whistle for them to line up. Their faces was still flushed with the exertion and the freezing cold air. A Minnesota cold snap had dropped a little snow and then frozen the city over. Dean's ragged tennis shoes did little to protect his feet and his jacket was just a little too thin for the weather. He didn't complain, though, just ran hard during recess to keep the blood flowing.

Dean had been surprised at the invite and couldn't help a breaking into a shy grin. He wasn't sure if that would be fun, though. Dean didn't like it when John went away for the whole night and even then he had Sammy, who would cuddle up to him at night, and Pastor Jim or somebody to take care of them.

He had forgotten to ask yesterday and Josh had given him a hard time after kickball. "What? Are you scared? Don't be such a baby! My brother has sleep overs all the time! Come on, it'll be fun!"

Dean wasn't so sure about that, but he DEFINITELY wasn't a baby. "I just FORGOT, okay," he defended. "I'm sure my dad'll let me come. I just have to ASK him," he said with a nonchalant tone which belied the drop in his stomach.

"Okay, okay. But if you can't come, I'm gonna invite Pete," Josh threatened.

Dean tried not to be intimidated, but now he had something to prove. Dad HAD to let him go.

"Just let me think about it, bud," John stalled. Dean nodded a bit unwillingly, but let it go. He knew dad would definitely shut him down if he tried to push the matter.

John finally capitulated, feeling a little guilty about the fact that Dean spent more time with a gun in his hands than he did a baseball glove. John knew the way he was raising Dean was different, that the boy was missing out on some things. Still, he wanted Dean strong, well-trained. No son of his was growing up weak. There was something about Dean's quiet intensity, though, that made John think maybe it wouldn't be a bad thing for the five-year-old to get some friends his own age. He didn't reach out to practically anyone, barely spoke when they were in public.

So John grudgingly gave his assent and when Josh's mom called later, he pretended to be a normal dad (or as close an approximation as he could manage). He neatly deflected questions about his personal life and answered in vague generalities about his Thanksgiving plans. Later he discretely checked out the neighborhood and, when it appeared safe enough, he dropped Dean off at the appointed time.

"Why do dey take their shoes off?" Sam asked skeptically from his perch on John's hip.

Josh's mom smiled at that, which only seemed to enhance the awkwardness. "Hello there," she cooed at Sam, who quickly became shy and hid his face in his dad's shoulder. John patted him absentmindedly on the back.

Dean stripped to his bare feet, not wanting anyone to see the holes in his shoes, while John stomped the snow from his dirty boots carefully before stepping gingerly onto the carpet.

"Be good, Ace." John ordered, dropping a self-conscious paternal kiss on the boy's shaggy head. He was surprised when Dean's arms tightened around his family, in a brief but intense hug. It was the first sign that the boy was nervous about the night ahead.

"Everything's gonna be okay." John reassured, "I'll be back at 0900 tomorrow."

"Yes, sir," Dean said gratefully. Dad had a tendency to get distracted; Dean didn't want John to forget him. John winked kindly and Dean returned with a wane smile. Had he actually wanted to do this? Dean asked himself incredulously.

"BYE, Dean," Sammy broke in, giving Dean a clumsy hug that made the boy's face go beat red, though he returned it gently. However the older boy disentangled himself quickly, feeling Josh's mom watching them tenderly. He deftly burying his insecurities by giving Sammy a reassuring grin and allowing Josh to pull him away to play video games. John felt a little bereft, but quickly bid his goodbyes to Josh's mother and slipped out the door with Sam.

"Time for bed, Sammy," John said to the yawning toddler later that evening. He had set the kid in front of the TV, hoping Sam would fall asleep on his own, but it was already 9:30 and the boy's eyes were still round as saucers. Every now and again a little fist would rub away a sleepy twitch in the eye, but he showed no signs of nodding off.

"Come on, bud." John encouraged as Sam looked at him with unfocused eyes.

The little eyes narrowed and Sam shook his head, protesting.

"Yes." John insisted firmly, body language getting stern.

"But where'z Dean?" Sam asked, voice rising in alarm.

"He's spending the night with a friend, Sammy," John explained as patiently as he could. If Sammy got upset now it would be while before he could get the kid down and there was still a pile of clippings he was planning on going through that night. He thought he might have a pattern and he wanted to do some cross-referencing.

Sam, it seemed, had other plans for the evening. Tears started dripping down his chubby cheeks. "I want Dean," he all but wailed.

"Come on, Sammy," John coaxed. "Daddy needs you to be a big boy and get your teeth brushed."

"I want DEAN to do it!" Sam argued.

John caught himself before he bellowed, "Dean's not HERE, buddy!" Sam was panicked enough, already.

John was honestly at a loss. He hadn't even thought about how Sam might react to the situation. Well, he was paying the price for his lack of foresight and general failing as a father now. Sam's protests were starting to get a little frantic.

"Come on, Sam. You're just fine." John tried to reason. Frustration made his voice harder than it needed to be and when he reached out to physically gather the little guy into his arms, Sam arched impressively and John nearly dropped him. "Sammy!" he barked in fear, but the boy wasn't at all phased and continued to cry and struggle weakly, though John held him firmly, trying to decide what to do next.

He gave the kid a gentle bounce to distract him, but Sam wasn't in the mood to be distracted.

"NO!" Sammy reprimanded, though he was now clinging to John's shoulder and not struggling anymore. John thought he could feel Sam's resolve weakening and walked with him a little, murmuring into his ear. While they were weaning Sam from the bottle and moving into sippy cup phase, John went ahead and warmed a little milk for the baby. While Sam sucked down the comforting liquid, John got him changed ran a wet wipe over the sticky face and hands.

Sam stilled a little, noticing that he had his father's full attention. It was a bit of a rarity in his young life, and, while he still missed Dean, the baby found he rather liked the feel of his father's expert, gentle hands.

John breathed a sigh of relief as Sam calmed. He kissed the baby's brow appreciatively and moved to the door. Sam immediately started crying and slipped out of bed to follow him. They didn't have crib, because the boy's ended up together during the night, anyway. John hadn't missed the thing until he turned to return the stubborn toddler to his bed.

"Lie down and go to sleep, Sammy," he ordered as gently as he could, but Sam was having none of it.

"DON'T go. DADDY pleeeeeese," he said, clinging to his father as John put him down on the bed.

"Shhhh, Shhh. I'm right here." John murmured, alarmed at the note of panic in the cry. He rubbed Sam's back gently, but the sobs didn't ease. Afraid the boy was going to make himself sick, John picked him up again, bewildered. Gradually, Sam's breath calmed, but his little fists clung fiercely to John's collar. "What is going on with you?" John murmured, levering himself onto the bed with his legs in front of him and holding his son close.

He wasn't really expecting an answer, but when his youngest sniffled, "I want DEAN," John realized he was in for a long night. He hadn't truly appreciated how much Dean took care of his little brother until something like this reminded him. Dean was the one who usually got the kid ready for bed. All John did was bestow a couple of good-night kisses and maybe soothe the occasionally night terror. Dean was the one who held the boy close through the night, whispered Sam off to sleep.

John remembered how Dean had been at this age, how his first born had clung to him before bed and how so many times John had held him until they were both ready to drift off. Sure, there had been the usual tears and later Dean had gotten stubborn about it, but John knew the difference between a little comfort crying and those terrified sobs.

"Oh, Sammy," he sighed, worrying. The man who had been Dean's daddy was not the man that so clumsily was bringing up the boys now. Sam seemed to take what he could get. He nestled into his father's shoulder, thumb finding his pert little mouth and a little shaky breath indicating that he was drifting off. John sat with Sam for a long while, lost in remembering how the boy had cried so desolately for Mary. "You'll never go through that again," John promised fiercely into his son's ear.

When Sam finally relaxed into a deep sleep, John lay him gently down on the bed. Sam whimpered, but didn't wake. John quickly turned off the lights and checked the wards, sparing a moment to panic about Dean. He missed the boy, but it was more than that. John had lost too much to be casual about the dangers that were out there. He spared a moment to pray for his baby; he and God had a shaky relationship at best, but there were times when even John Winchester would put away his pride. He knew that the deep pit in his stomach was irrational, but suddenly he regretted his decision to let Dean go for the night. In this witching hour of the night he didn't give a damn about Dean growing up to be well- adjusted. He wanted his kid here, where he could keep him safe.

Hearing Sammy snuffling in the bed, reaching out for the comforting warmth of his brother, John quickly kicked off his boots and jeans to slide in beside the tiny, trembling body. Sammy immediately relaxed into him and John smiled at the boy's glorious, living warmth.

"Good night, Sammy," he whispered.

John woke to the ungodly ringing of the phone. His eyes flew open in the dark and his blood ran cold. Good news could wait until morning. Oh God.

He clumsily detached himself for Sam, fumbling for the phone.

"H-hello?" he asked nervously, blinking the sleep from his eyes. It was 2:30 in the morning.

"Yes, hello. This Maureen Coleman, Josh's mother," came the strained voice on the other line. Oh God.

"What's wrong? What happened?" John was immediately drenched in sweat and he swayed a little, catching himself on the door frame. He couldn't lose that kid. Please God.

"About 30 minutes ago, I went to check on the boys and Dean wasn't in his bed. We got everyone up and searched through the entire house, but we haven't found him. The dead bolt on the door was unlocked from the inside and his stuff is gone. Neither of our boys knew anything about what had happened. They're fairly light sleepers... I..." she faltered. "We called you as soon as we were sure he wasn't in the house. George, my husband, is out checking the streets." She paused, supposedly expecting him to respond.

John trembled violently, before swallowing bile. He couldn't assume the worst. "I'm on my way over," he said shortly. He had to take a look himself. He would find his son.

Author's note: I absolutely promise to update tomorrow! Don't be mad. The chapter was getting really long and I thought this was...um... a good stopping point?