The Winchester Boys don't belong to me. A dang shame if you ask me. Anyhow, am not gluttonous or anything, will gladly share Sam and Dean as long as I get to keep John. Please read and review. Lonely new writer is feeling slightly dejected at the lack of feedback.
January 24, 2005280 South, CaliforniaJohn Winchesters Truck
John slipped in his favorite tape. One his sons knew nothing about. Johnny Cash, Guess Things Happen That Way, the song filled his truck. God gave me that girl to lean on, then he put me on my own. Heaven help me be a man and have the strength to stand alone. I don't like it but I guess things happen that way.
He thought back to Sammy's fourth birthday. Dean made him a cake Reece's littered through it and one of those big number candles. Laughing John recalled the apron. It was one of his USMC shirts, 'We never promised you a rose garden.' Who knew how apropos it would become. Angels above don't ever tell Dean, but that kid was quite the domestic, even at the tender age of eight. The little shit even put frosting on it chocolate frosting.
Made Sam a card and gave him a gift, a photo album. Sam had been asking Dean why they never had pictures wherever they stayed. Dean showed Sam how to prop it up so he could look at photos anytime he wanted. With a photo album he reasoned to Sam he was always able to carry them with him, change the display picture as news one were taken, while still being able to hold on to the old ones. Memories were important things.
John remembered Dean looking at him his little shoulders square. His chin the strong Winchester chin set, hazel eyes bright with love for his brother. "He needs to know he is loved sir. When you put him in my arms you put him in my care." At eight Dean was ready to take on the world for his brother. The older man looked out the window. Tears making a silent trip down his cheeks. Sam had Dean. Who did Dean have?
Unfortunately he remembered Deans next birthday all to well. John wasn't one to rule by an iron fist. The boys were so afraid he would leave like Mary that for the most part fear of abandonment worked. However, there were those times…about a week before Dean's ninth birthday they had been on a hunt. A friend of his from the Corps, retired Captain Frank Pierce had called him.
After the Vietnam conflict had ended John's unit returned to Camp Pendleton. Not good at sitting idle, John had volunteered for Force Recon. He went through the Basic Recon Course, Landing Force Training, Jump School and Under Water Demolition Training. Mary called him her Renaissance Man. Even with all the specialized training provided John was still the explosives guy. He joined Force Recon, 1st Marine Corps Division, Alpha Company, helmet number A056.
Part of the job of a special forces Marine was to not be noticed. You go behind enemy lines undetected, take care of the business at hand, be it extracting someone or destroying a particular position. Frank Pierce was talented young Staff Judge Advocate; he had a knack for seeing the right papers pushed in the right places. He was loved by enlisted and officer alike.
Captain Piece had been processing a certain set of important papers in a slightly unorthodox fashion. In a location John was sent to neutralize. One of the reasons he was so well like was because he had the uncanny ability to get the job done making both sides of whatever issue he was working on happy up to and including the insurgents or enemy. Captain Pierce was nicknamed the Peacekeeper.
In this case he found himself trapped where he shouldn't have been. John saved his life maybe not in a way the Corps would have approved of. The important thing was the Peacekeeper was safe. In times imminent demise, you don't question you do. Frank had scene to it that John had high marks on his next evaluation. Captain Piece authored a wonderful letter of commendation and recommended that John receive a meritorious promotion. Staff Sergeant John Winchester was then promoted to Gunnery Sergeant John Winchester.
Frank and his wife Shelly had just purchased a lot in Chadron, Nebraska. Frank was clearing the barn and things started flying. The former Devil Dog knew his old friend John was into the paranormal and asked him to come and ghost bust. Frank had offered a good sum of money and a comfortable place to stay for an easy job. Right, easy.
January 19, 1988Chadron, Nebraska
Dean knew the rules. Stay in the truck with Sammy. Dad will be out soon. There were times when both the boys had come into haunted places and watched scary things happen. This was their life. John could and would not shelter them. However, when he knew things had the potential to get dangerous, he went out of his way to make sure they were removed from the situation. This poltergeist fancied him self a javelin thrower and tossed pitchforks, rakes and anything else he could get his transparent hands on.
January 24, 2005 280 South, California
Hells bells, John thought as rubbed a hand over his weary face. Was there always this much traffic on the freeway in the morning? How many colors were there for automobiles these days and for that matter how many makes and models could the car companies come up with? Congestion and over population, two of the big reasons John preferred a small town to a big city. Wide open spaces. John needed wide open spaces. Another thing he had passed onto Dean. Kid loved the open road. Dean was never as so happy as be out on the road. Whenever John would glance in his rearview mirror he would see his son smiling. Angels help them if something ever happened to the Impala.
January 19, 1988Chadron, Nebraska
Grover Thompson, the spirit in question loved his property more than anything, he would walk it every day, finishing out his morning constitutional with a cup o joe in the barn. When he died his family buried him in his business office in the back of the mustard yellow barn. Whoever heard of a mustard yellow barn? Barns were supposed to be red. John had just reached the cottonwood casket when Grover the Champion Thrower speared him in the leg with a rake handle. His scream ran through the air. All the way to Dean, who heard his Dad cry out in white hot pain as the metal went through his skin, muscle and who knows what else.
When his oldest son walked in with a shotgun, his heart stopped. John was sure of it. A hay pick breezed right passed Dean's head and thankfully left it untouched. Dean didn't flinch just shot the apparition as best he could with his little eight year old frame. John turned salted and a light a match as fast as his trembling hands could. Little Dean ran straight to him, tears threatening to shine. "Dad!" His small voice screamed. Dean launched himself into his Dad's arms. John just held him, shaking the whole time. His son could have killed. "Dad, you are bleeding." John looked at his leg, damn it all to hell, he was.
"Dean Christopher Winchester," was all he could say before he grabbed his son's small arm and turned him around. He hit his backside so hard if John hadn't been holding him, Dean would have launched into the support beam for the barn. To his son's credit he didn't cry out, just gasped and froze in place. "What are the rules Dean?" Not turning around Dean's unsteady voice said, "Never walk onto a job, if I haven't told you, you can. When I say no, it means no." John sighed, turned his son to face him, tears were streaming down Dean's cheeks. John's eyes grew wet.
"Help me out son." John exhaustedly said to his rogue shotgun wielder. "Yes sir," was Dean's solemn response. The Winchester hunters made it back to the truck. Dean stored the gear they had just used in the weapons box. John attempted with out much success to apply a makeshift turn a kit to his leg. When they alighted into the cab Sammy's eyes were round as saucers. Oh, shit he saw everything.
Dean climbed over Sam and gingerly sat down next to him, pressing his small hands on the wound to try and stop the bleeding. Sam reached over and touched his brother's back. Dean looked at him, and thus the silent brother communication was borne. Present day John sighed he had witnessed this unique form of communication in action many a time and would again. Oh this he was certain, despite his harsh words to Sam. If John was lucky he might even witness this phenomenon before the day was out.
John tried to keep from hitting too many bumps on the road back to their cabin. He kept telling himself, he didn't want to jar his leg, but he knew it was for both him and Dean. John promised he would never spank the boys when he was angry he never wanted to turn into his father. John and Mary had talked punishments and knew they would occur. If their son's were anything like their father they would be headstrong. So yes they knew that a time would come when corporal punishment would happen, but the boys would always know they were loved. There was a difference between a beating and a punishment.
Turning into the parking area for the cabin John accidentally hit a hole. Dean had a sharp intake of breath, but said nothing. Sammy's green-brown eyes glared at him, fire raging. John could read the message in them 'you hurt my brother.' 'Yeah Sammy, dad's aren't perfect.' John didn't think this was the time for trying to reason with an upset and attempting to be overprotective four year old.
Sam kept rubbing Deans back the whole trip. A maneuver Dean had used many a time on Sam, if he had a nightmare or wasn't feeling well. Rubbing Sam's back always made Sam's spirit pick up. He would usually reach over hug Dean and tell him he was the bestest brother in the world. Dean however said not a word. Present day John always worried more when Dean was silent than when he had a smartass comment. Dean with nothing to say was beyond eerie and usually meant his oldest son was in pain deep emotional pain. And if John were to be honest, pain he was usually the cause of. Be it directly or indirectly.
Turning off the engine, John turned to his son's. Before he had a chance to say anything to the boys, Dean told Sam to hop down. Dean toke Sam's hand and walked into the cabin. When John looked through the window he could see Dean talking quietly to Sam. His littlest one pointing to the truck, Dean slowly taking Sam's hand in his and back to the conversation. Did he want to know?
By the time the embattled hunter made it in the cabin, his emotions were in check and his heart rate was returning to normal. Dean had helped Sammy get ready for bed and tucked in. The bathroom had supplies laid out, needle, thread, holy water and a change of clothes. This was not the first time his oldest son had assisted in patching wounds up; John doubted it would be the last.
John's bed had his old brown leather belt on it. Oh Dean he thought. May poor little man; old before his time was a phrase that came to mind. He might have spanked him, but he had never used a belt. Then he remembered their talk. "You make a big boy mistake. You get a big boy punishment."
John explained to Dean there was one thing that would result in his son's feeling leather connect with his bare backside. If John was on a job where the boys were restricted from and he found them there. It was to deter them from following him watching something and not understanding it or more importantly getting hurt. Never did he dream this would be the case. Dean hearing his father scream thinking the worst and coming to save him. Where did it all go wrong?
John walked, well hobbled into the bathroom; Dean followed him, his quiet little solider. Dean cut the jeans off; there was no saving this pair. No amount of peroxide and Tide would bring these back. They were a comfortable pair too, worn in and soft. He watched as son wiped the area around the impaled leg with alcohol. When that task was complete he looked at his dad. John nodded and Dean cleaned the wound with bedadine. Pain shot through him, the injured hunter welcomed it.
Dean looked at him, holy water in hand, wordlessly asking permission. "I might make noise son, but pour until the wound is white." With his fathers okay Dean poured the holy water. "Holy hell and all the Angels above," John uttered. He saw stars, lights and fancy shapes. His son's voice brought him back. "It is white sir." The older man looked down at his progeny's face. Dean was worried about his father and trying to hide it. John knew his son was also worried that John wouldn't love him anyone.
"Did you thread the needle?" "Yes sir." "Put the antibiotic inside the gash and then press the skin together." Wordlessly his son completed the task. When the injured party was finished with darning his wound shut he looked at Dean. His son's face was set. He had broken the rules. Dean was ready to face what ever lay ahead. John rubbed his tired hands over his face. "Okay son, take my pants and through them in the fire." "Yes sir."
Dean didn't move. He was waiting for further instruction. John sighed. "Then wait for me in my room." He observed his son stiff Winchester chin and all walk to the fireplace and put the pants in. Dean waited until they had turned to ash before moving. The weary father watched his son bravely make the long walk down the hall to John's room.
For the first time since the night's events, the former Gunny looked in the mirror. Blood and dirt was all over him. Oh hell there was a nick on his neck. More scars to add to his riddled body. He turned and put the shower on. "Fuck, Dean." Oh hell his courageous little man. As much as it killed him to make his son wait in agony for his impending punishment there was no way he was going to do anything to him like this. Divesting himself of what little clothes were left on his battered body, he climbed in the shower.
Tears followed down his cheeks mixing in with the frigid water from the shower. John refused himself hot water, preferring the bitter torture of cold. Oh Mary sweet beautiful Mary. Tonight I almost lost our little Dean. As sure as he was of anything, if he had, John knew Mary would have come from heaven herself to kill him. John replayed the night's event in the barn, Dean's conception in a whole other barn and his son's birth literally in his arms. Unsure of how long he stood there, John finally turned the water off and dragged himself out of the sanctuary of the cold water. He dried off, changed and walked out.
He ever as a mouse quiet looked in on Sam. His youngest was sleeping soundly with his Amos doll in hand. In a rare attempt at family normallacy he had taken the boys to a town fair. The Winchester boys had been back home in the sunflower state of Kansas. Dean bought Sam the Amos doll after taking him to see the puppet show. Hours and hours of Amos stories he has heard Dean tell Sam. When ever Dean needed Sam to quiet down or wanted to keep his mind off something. Amos and Craven had another one of their amazing adventures. It was through Amos and Craven Sam learned about life. If John had only known then...
Closing the door he headed to his room. John put his almost steady hand on the knob. Leaned in and rested his now clean head against the wooden barrier between calm resignation and swirling emotion pain then he sighed. Opening the door John walked in to see his son ramrod straight on the bed, next to the belt. Pulling the side chair up to the bed, he quietly sat in front of his son. John looked at Dean his unyielding mini warrior. Oh hell Dean he thought and not for the first time that night.
Dean had yet to look at him. That changed the minute he spoke. "Dean?" The single father inquired to his older son. "Yes sir." His scared little one said. Oh, he was doing a passing job at hiding it, but he could see the fear in his boy's eyes. Not of the belt, fear of him. Fuck. He thought to himself. John knew he needed to mend this situation.
Dean thought John didn't love him anymore. He wasn't afraid of the punishment he was afraid of his father leaving him. Dean tried so hard to do everything so John didn't have too. John was wise to his older son's way of thinking. 'If he doesn't have to worry about the little stuff then he will stay.' Nothing was more important to Dean than family, not just Sammy, family. John, Sam and Dean, they were the Winchester Family. Now Dean was thinking 'not only did I do something wrong, I broke a rule a big rule, the rule. This means my Dad won't love me anymore.'
"I am sorry I lost my temper and control tonight, I should never have smacked you the way I did." His son's expression remained unchanged as John continued to talk. "I was just so very scared that you could have been seriously hurt or died. When that hay pick went breezing past your head, my heart stopped."
At this his sons bravado failed, his strong Winchester chin quivered a little and his eyes grew watery. "I am sorry, Dad. I heard you scream and it was just like the scream you gave that night." John's throat got tight, 'that night.' "Dean, I love you son and I am not going to leave, come here" John said with his arms open. His son embraced him with all the strength his little body had.
"I'm sorry Dad for scaring you. I had to be there. I had to save you." John's throat developed a very large knot. His son continued. "I guess we scared each other." Out of the mouths of babes. The two Winchesters sat there on the chair for quite a while.
John was a little startled when Dean said. "I'm ready Dad. I already told Sammy he might hear you taking care of business. Despite the seriousness of the situation John smiled. He used that phrase all the time. "Didn't want him to be scared or hear something and…" His son's voice trailed off. Dean was nothing if not brave. John knew he had to go through with this. A rule was a rule you broke it there was a consequence. There would come a time when this would pay off and protect the boys. Start as you mean to go on. Even though at this point John thought they both had pain enough to spare.
"Come on Dean." John said as he picked up the belt and opened the door. His son looked at him, with question in his eyes. "This is between you and me. We can settle it out back." There was no need to embarrass Dean any further. His heart hurt and his backside would soon follow. John walked with his son out to the wood-chopping stump. He sat down and patted his knee.
Later that night, he tucked a very sore Dean in. Both Winchester men had puffy eyes. "How are you feeling Dean?" The concerned father asked his son. "I would be lying to your sir if I didn't say it hurts," replied his son very pragmatically. Being pragmatic was an ability Dean carried with him into his adult years. "It will hurt worse in the morning." John said gingerly. "Yes sir I imagine it will." Dean responded, his voice horse.
"Son, you do know why I had to do this?" His wise beyond his year's son who was currently on his side, probably because his bottom was on fire said, "Because I broke the most important rule. We both made promises. I promised not to break the rule. You promised to beat my backside if I did. One day I will look back on this and know it was for the best." The cold hard truth stared them both in the face. John kissed his son's forehead and told him he loved him. "I love you too Dad."
The wounded man closed the door to the room his sons shared, shuffled down the hall and out the back door. He limped out back to the tree stump and promptly threw up. Spanking his kids was hard enough without the emotional upheaval of the night. As it was he couldn't bring himself to beat his son with a belt. Spanked till he knew his son couldn't sit comfortably for a week and 3 very minimum force swings of the belt. That's all. When he was done, Dean turned to him. "It's okay Dad. I'm cool. I'll live." The son comforting the father how fucked up was that?
January 24, 2005280 South, California
John looked in the rear view mirror making sure the birthday boy was still behind him. Parents would always be concerned about their children. No matter how old they were they always be yours to worry about. He could see Dean tapping the steering wheel with his fingers. Angels above only knows what tape he had playing. If he had to guess though, one of the many Sam had made him through the years. Dean saw him and raised his fingers in a mock salute. John returned the sentiment.
January 20, 1988Chadron, Nebraska
The next morning Dean was slow to move. He made a valiant and sincere effort though. Little Sammy did everything he could for his brother, without trying to draw attention. Poor tyke his plan failed miserably. Not that John let him in on that fact. John was more concerned about Dean than Sam was.
That night Dean asked to go to bed early, imagine him asking to go to bed early. Dean who never needed any sleep, his backside must have smarted something fierce. 'What did I do?' John still felt sick about everything that had transpired. Sam approached him. Ah four-year-old reasoning, what a wonder to behold.
"Dad," stated as firmly as a little one in cowboy-covered pajamas could. "Yes, Sammy." His father replied. "I am making a cake for Dean's birthday and need your help." Whatever John Winchester had thought his son was going to say. This was not it. Not by a long shot. He sent a silent thank you to Mary.
He had heard his sons earlier 4:00am conversation when he walked down the hall to the bathroom to check his stitches. "Dean, Dean are you okay?" Sam asked his brother in a soft voice. Deans weak reply relayed how much discomfort he was experiencing. "I'm cool Sammy. I'm cool." The younger brother asked the question he most feared the answer to. "Does Dad still love you?" Oh hell, John thought.
"When I saw him hit you last night, jumping crows Dean, I thought he was gonna kill you. It is all my fault." His fault, John looked at the door. As is if might answer his question. "Sammy it's not your fault, I went in the barn because I thought Dad was going to die. Not because you begged me." Oh holy hell, John looked at the door harder. They were going to have to have a family discussion.
"Dad told me he was sorry about smacking me, so we are good. And besides, I knew the rules." Sam, the inquisitor, was not one to let things go. "What happened last night? I heard Dad help you into bed." "You were up? I told you to sleep." A week sounding Dean stated. "I was scared for you. If you needed help, I wanted to be able to help you. You always help me when something feels bad or hurts." Replied Sam as if his brother should have known, but was letting him off the hook.
"Does it help?" John heard Sam ask. Does what help he thought? "It always helps when you put it on my bruises and ouches." Sam went on. "Yes, Sammy it does. Please don't let Dad catch you. I don't know if I am up to another round just now." John could hear the exhaustion in his older son's voice. What ever Sam had done there would be no more rounds, ever if he could help it.
Coming out of his thoughts the dad heard his younger son's reply. "I carried it in my shirt and then wrapped it in your blue racing car one. It was dirty so, if it was a little wet…." John smiled. Dean always put ice on Sam's bumps and bruises, told him it would make it numb so he wouldn't feel as bad. He sincerely hoped it helped Dean. Use all the ice in the freezer if he had to.
"Dean, I am sorry," sniffled Sam. "Sammy, I told you it is okay. "Dad loves me, both of us. I, not you broke the rules. Please." John could hear his older son's energy waning. He could also detect a slight lack of confidence in the 'Dad loves me, both of us' statement. "Sammy you know what you could do that would help? You could curl up with me, like you do with Amos." Leave it to Dean to make everyone feel better. Later when John looked in on his little centurions that was how he found them. Sammy snuggled in his brother's embrace. Would that someone would hold him like that.
"Okay, Sammy" replied the truth be told relieved father. "What do you need me to do?" The serious moppet hair little one went on to explain to him he wanted to make an Oreo cake. Dean had made him one with Reece's - Sammy's favorite. He wanted to repay the favor by using Oreo's. Both the Winchester boys in front of the fire knew Dean's love of Oreo's. "I have money saved Dad. You just have to take me and reach the stuff on the shelves I can't." John wondered how much a boy at his age could save.
"Sammy," the father patted his knee. His youngest looked at him reluctantly, climbing up nonetheless. Anything for Dean, his father figured. These boys would always have each other. John rubbed his son's back. "Sammy, do you have any questions about what happened to your brother?" Not wanted to deepen the chasm he could see forming. "No Dad, Dean explained it to me. I understand we both do. You break the rules, there are consekqwenses." Some words were still big at 4, his son continued. "And you love us."
Sam looked as if he thought that may or may not be true. If Dean told him though, then it must. "Sammy, I love you both very much. More than you can understand. What you saw in the barn was your Dad making a mistake. I should have never hit Dean like that. I was scared and fear took over my brain." His son's eyes widened at the admission adults make mistakes, even dads. "We love you too Dad." With that his cowboy covered son rested his head on John's shoulder.
"Now Sammy lets get one thing straight, you do not need to pay for Dean's birthday cake. Do you understand me?" The father questioned. "Yes Dad I understand." A thought formed in John's mind. "Sammy, do you know how to make a cake?" John tried to hide a smile at his son's answer and reaction. "Yes, I helped Dean when we made yours. Besideses, if we need help and you are sneaky you can read the card with the cake sticker on it. It is in Dean's blue bag." Sam informed his father, complete with a duh expression. John smiled sadly. Dean kept Mary's box of recipe cards.
"He needs a card. I am going to make him one with a racing car on it, a black one. Are you going to make him a card Dad?" Sam rolled on. John figured with a decent amount of certainty Dean would one day drive like a racecar driver. The boy had a passion for cars. "I don't know what I am going to do for Dean." Although he knew he needed to do something. The kid had to know he was loved. "We will go in the morning Sammy and get the fixin's for the cake." John told his youngest son. 'What indeed was he going to do?'
"What about Dean? It's gotta be a surprise." John seriously doubted his older son would be running at full steam tomorrow. "We will tell Dean he has to fill all the bottles, clean and bless all the weapons in Dad's trunk." Sam looked at his father like he was going to be imposing another punishment on his brother. John figured Dean would be grateful. He could stay off his bruised bum and help his father. "Don't worry Sammy Dean will be happy about this. I promise." Sam nodded at this. "Good night Dad" said his determined four year old lone ranger.
"I will be in soon to tuck you in." John replied. When Sam had cleared the corner he turned and looked into the fireplace. A birthday cake with Oreo's, no road to recovery was complete without a chocolate sandwich with marshmallow in the middle.
January 20, 1988Chadron, Nebraska
John woke up about 5am and headed into the kitchen. He smelled coffee. This was curious, coffee? One day he knew he sons would drink it, but 4 and soon to be 9. "Hello?" John said to the kitchen. Not expecting a response he was startled when he heard "Good Morning Sir." "Dean what are you doing up this early?" John asked and realized when his older son took an involuntary step back asked a little too harshly. "I wanted to make breakfast sir, since I wasn't able to make dinner last night." His first-born uttered in a strong yet exhausted tone.
John took a chair out and sat down. "Come here Dean." John kept eye contact with his son. Dean took a few small steps and stood in front of him waiting. John brought his hands up to Dean's waist. He sighed when his son flinched but held his ground. "Dean we have to get a few things straight. Please son, its okay to call me Dad. Now, you are not responsible for this family, I am. I let you cook, because Sammy, myself, and all the angels up there know it tastes a whole load better when you do. However, you are not under any obligation to. There will be no punishment if you are unable to cook. Well eating my sloop maybe but that is all." At least he got a small smile at that one. He could feel the tension in his battered sons body lessoning.
"Now, I have to go into town today." Dean's face turned white at the thought, all those bumps. He could do it. "Okay, sir. Dad." Dean had the resolve of a whole Army. "I'll get Sammy ready. "No, no, no." John said to his son. "We aren't finished here." It took all of his Corps training not to blanch at the look on his son's face, no child should be that terrified of a parent. He could see Dean's thoughts swarming. 'Here it comes, Dean I have decided to leave.'
Swallowing hard John talked with his hazel eyed mini me and continued on his course. "Dean, as evidenced by your shotgun wielding on Tuesday night I think you are ready to help with more of the hunting." John smiled at this son; grateful the look on his small face went from one of determined resolve to trepidatious wonder.
"I thought I would take Sammy into town. You could stay and fill all the bottles with holy water, clean and bless all the weapons." The father looked at his son, a look filled with compassion. Dean was quiet it for a few seconds and looked at him.
"Make sure he doesn't go overboard on the cake. We have enough eggs, sugar and flour here." Dean smiled when he said this. "Please don't let on to your brother that you know. It has to be a surprise," asked John. "Complete shock Dad, you will see complete shock on my face," replied his son eyes twinkling.
John touched a gentle hand to his young warriors face. "Seriously Dean, I want to give you more responsibility on the hunt. When you are feeling at little more agile son we will go outside and practice more with different weapons and such. You have earned it." Dean looked at his Dad thinking, this had to be the greatest present his dad had ever given him.
John gently and taking his time moved his hand to rest on Dean's battered bottom. "How are you feeling? And tell me the truth, please? Don't tell me what you think I want to hear. Tell me how you feel," beseeched the worried dad to his son. "I'm okay," was Dean's somber response. "Damn it all to hell Dean, don't tough it out." John was quick to let out. So much for not scaring his son, not only did his little one flinch, he then went statue still in his hands.
Expelling a calming breath, John looked at his son, making sure they were eye to eye. "Dean it is over. There will be no more punishment. Do you understand me? I am concerned, please tell me how you doing." Dean's face softened and his strong Winchester chin bobbed reflexively. "Yes I understand. It hurts Dad. Sitting is still kind of uncomfortable, okay real uncomfortable. I would still rather stand. The shower this morning was pure torture, it felt like you…" Dean voice trailed off.
Oh hell, this had to be the one place with decent water pressure. John could still feel the heat through his sons racing car adorned pajama bottoms. Sighing, John very carefully asked his next question. Male pride was a tricky thing. Even at almost 9. His son was after all a Winchester.
Calmly and delicately John asked "Dean would you mind if I looked at your backside?" His son gave him a look that said he would mind very much, but nodded in the affirmative. John needed to make sure there was no lasting damage. Dean slowly turned around, tension back and at the ready in his little thrashed body. He knew what his son was thinking, he is going to look and decide I need more. His brave son was ready to stoically take 'another round.' Time will lead him to trust his father again. Until then, John slipped a finger behind his son's waistband and hells bells. It was a mesh of bruises and welts. Oh Mary, I did this to our son.
John moved his hands to his lap. "You can turn around now son." Hazel eyes, her eyes, filled with resigned fear looked at him. "Imp, what do you say you and I take our cups outside?" John chuckled at his son's change in features. Imp was an exclusive name between the two of them. John only pulled it out on special occasions. Fear to questioning was a step in the right direction.
"You put the cereal in the bowls and I will take our hot beverages outside." John told his son. He poured a cup of coffee his little homemaker brewed, testing a sip. John wasn't surprised to find it just right, even though he was fully prepared to feign enjoying it. Pulling another mug down from the cupboard, he grabbed a white packet from the jar and dumped the contents in.
Dean looked at him out of the corner of his eye. An eye that might have had the barest hint of a twinkle, John smiled. Once outside the two Winchester's stood white mugs in hand watching the sun come up. The first of many sunrises they would watch together.
"Okay Dad, do we have everything?" Asked his littlest one who was on an important mission. The mission was to make this the best birthday possible for his big brother Dean and maybe a day for them all to celebrate a new beginning. "Yes, Sammy. We're good." Was the reply of the somewhat exhausted father to his son's question. The two shoppers stored their purchases in the back of the marginally dented Chevy pickup.
John walked his youngest around to the passenger door. Sam stopped abruptly, causing John to bump into him. Sam looked at him then sent his attention back to what had caught it in the first place. John followed his son's eyes and smiled. Grabbing his overall covered sons hand they made their way down the cracked sidewalk to the antique store. There sitting in the front window of the ironically named WWW Antiques was a black model 67 Impala.
Of all the gifts in the world there could not be a more perfect one for Dean. Sam looked up at his dad and frowned. John did a double take. Frowning? Why was Sam frowning? Reaching his free hand into his blue and white pinstriped overalls pocket Sam slipped something out of it and into John's free hand. "Do I have enough?" John looked at his son unmoving. "You only said you would get the cake." His determined son finished with barley audible sigh.
John released his Sam's tiny hand and knelt to his eye level. "Sammy we will have to go in first and ask. If you don't maybe we can split the cost." Explained John knowing he could more than pay for his son's gift. Also knowing Sam needed to have a hand in it. Sam's brown-green eyes looked at him with something akin to doubt. "Okay Dad," was his son's quiet reply.
Two of the three W boys walked into the musty box smelling store hand in hand. Sam was very careful to keep his free hand in his pocket, not wanting to break something. John and Sam stopped in front of the cash counter and waited for the elder looking lady behind the large desk to finish her call. Call completed she looked up at John and down at Sam. Sending what he hopped was a knowing look to Betsy or so her nametag read, John nudged his youngest son.
"Excuse me ma'am, can you please tell me the cost of the Chevy Impala model in the window?" Sam asked in his polite voice. After the boys would 'go to bed' Dean would give Sam pointers on diplomatic interaction. Please, thank you, you are welcome and such. Mary would have been so proud. For the most part they maintained these traits into adulthood.
"Well dear I don't know let me just get it and see." As Betsy navigated her way to the window display, they had just received an estate donation; tables, lamps and other odds and ends were placed haphazardly here there and everywhere. Betsy questioned the focused little one in his Oshkosh Be Goshes. "Do you like Impala's young man?" Sam looked up at John for permission to answer. John nodded and smiled at him.
"It is my big brothers birthday on Sunday and he LOVES Impala's. He told Dad he wants to get a 67 when he is old enough. So until then, I thought this might work." Sam explained to the nice looking lady in the rose colored sweeter with a genuine smile. Judging by the determined look in the young mans eyes, well as much of the eyes that weren't distorted by horrible looking bangs, this brother must be very important to him.
Betsy had the model in hand and carefully made her way back to Sam. She crouched down in front of him and handed the model over for inspection. John released Sam's hand so he could give the car a once over. The work someone had done of the car was specific and detailed. "Thank you ma'am, it is a very nice car and black, which is cool. My brother wants a black one." Sam said handing the car back to Betsy. She looked up at John and smiled. Turning to Sam, "What do you think dear? Will your brother like this car?" Betsy directed her questions at the sincere young man in front her. "It rocks."