What should have been an easy salt-and-dust turned into the fight for his life. What the hell went wrong, John didn't know. One minute, he was setting fire to the remains of Jameson McGrath. Well, what he thought were his remains, anyway. Bouncing off the basement wall as if he was a damn basketball convinced him how wrong about that he was. Pretty obvious Casper wasn't a friendly ghost after that.
And that he had a black belt in paranormal Kung-Fu.
It took him a good twenty minutes, and he received a helluva beating in the process, but he finally found a box containing a lock of McGrath's hair. He set it on fire before collapsing on the basement floor, panting, sweating, and seeing stars. Damn but everything hurt. Even his hair.
And that was a whole new kinda bullshit there.
Finally, after much grumbling and enough swearing to make a sailor blush, he pulled himself up and stumbled out to the Impala. How he didn't cause an accident on the drive back was beyond him. He credited it to knowing his boys were waiting back at the roadhouse for him. He pulled into a stall and cut the engine. He didn't immediately climb out and head inside because he needed the time to gather the necessary strength and energy to make it the short distance to the door. Can't have what happened last time.
Having his five-year-old take care of him because he got careless hurt him a lot worse than them cracked ribs and smattering of cuts and bruises. Not up to Dean to take care of his old man, he thought, belly cramping, heart aching, and soul shriveling up just a bit more. I'm supposed to be the one taking care of him and Sammy.
None of them expected life to turn out this way, though. I'm doing my best, Mary. I hope you know that. Even if his best wasn't good enough. He pushed open the car door with a sigh and stepped out into the abrasive night air. Every step sent agony shooting through his body. Can imagine Ellen is gonna read me a riot act when she sees me.
Part of him felt like he was back in boot camp. His body throbbed in much the same way after a long day of maneuvers. Shit hurt a helluva lot worse after his company got deployed. Hunting reminded him of 'Nam. One wrong move and he could have his ass torn apart. Only, instead of a bullet or land mine tearing him open, it was a set of razor-sharp teeth or claws. He shook off his dark thoughts as he opened the door and stepped inside. The sight that greeted him sucked the air from his lungs. His pain and exhaustion evaporated as his youngest boy took one slow step.
Then another.
Until with the confidence of a lion he ran the remaining steps separating him from Dean.
"You did it, Sammy!" Dean crowed as he caught his brother in his arms. "You did it!"
Yeah, buddy, he did it, John thought as he quietly shut the door. Because he had you there to catch him if he should fall.
And that, John fully believed, was never gonna change.
A/N: Hi, all! Hope this finds you well!
S/N: Thanks to Katy for reminding me that Sam started walking around a year. John has it listed as May 17 in his journal as when Sam took his first steps. So this is around mid-May of 1984 and after that point.