Disclaimer: The characters of Supernatural do not belong to me.
John was coming to learn, a little more and more each day, that when life was hard, you seemed to do everything you could to make it harder.
He'd gotten the call two days ago from an old friend who now headed CPS in Sioux Falls. There was a foster kid who needed a home. She was twelve years old, had been in foster care since she was five, and had just gotten kicked out of her twentieth home in seven years. Gil was at a loss as to what to do with the kid, and his thoughts had immediately fallen to his friend. John had resisted at first. It had been a long time since he cared for a kid, and though he'd never admit it, he was afraid to do it again. He was terrified he'd screw up again.
Because the last time he'd screwed up, life as he knew it had ended.
Fifteen years had passed since that last hunt. The one that had taken not just Sam, but Bobby from him too. The second that the hunt was over, John had thrown himself, body and soul, into drinking himself dead too. The only thing that had held him together was Dean. John honestly didn't know why Dean hadn't just left him. Left him to rot like John deserved. He certainly wouldn't blame Dean if he had.
At thirty-five, Dean's life still contained remnants of the damage left from hunting. Dean had a family now, a wife named Lisa and a son named Ben who was the apple of his grandfather's eye. John didn't know if this was his own wishful thinking, but Ben seemed to be his uncle Sam's doppelganger. In looks, Ben was nearly identical to Sam at age eight. He was amazingly smart, and had skipped an entire grade in school already. John laid all the praise and encouragement on Ben that he should've laid on Sam when Sam was…
John shook his head. Even fifteen years later, he still couldn't admit Sam's death. He knew Sam was gone, and that he wasn't coming back, but the d word escaped him. He wondered if his level of denial would amaze any psychiatrists who would somehow hear of it. As long as he didn't admit in his head that Sam was gone, he didn't have to deal with it. Bobby's death had been hard, but much easier to process than his son's.
John took one final look around the house. Gil had just called and said he was on the way and would be there in half an hour. The house was as clean as he could get it. His late wife, Mary, would've been proud. Bobby, who had left his house to John and the boys in the event of his death, would've likely grumbled that it was too clean to be comfortable in, but would, deep down, have appreciated his friend's gesture.
That's enough, John thought to himself. They'll be here in ten minutes.
John stepped outside and took a seat on the front porch swing. It had been installed before Ben's birth, a gift from Dean for his father when he noticed that it was getting hard for John to sit on the steps like he sometimes liked to do at night. It was one of, if not the, most thoughtful gifts John had ever been given, and he'd used it so much that it had already been repaired twice. It had also become a place for little Ben to sit and talk with his grandpa about things he didn't really want to tell his parents, such as when he was being bullied at school or when he was having trouble adjusting to always being the youngest kid in his class.
God, what he wouldn't have done to be able to have conversations like that with Sam when he was here.
But it was too late to dwell on all of that. John wondered what Sam would've thought about how his father's life had turned out. Would Sam have been angry that his father had finally dumped hunting to live the normal life that Sam so badly wanted? Would he have been jealous? Upset? Happy? John knew, deep down, that Sam had never been a spiteful boy, and would have been overjoyed when he figured that his father had finally found peace in his life.
If only.
Gil's car pulled into the driveway, and his old friend greeted him warmly. John had served with Gil in Vietnam, and the two of them had reconnected after Sam's death. Gil had even offered John a job as a social worker, thinking that John would have been good at investigating child abuse. It seemed that Gil's job never ended, and he desperately needed the help. He'd been gracious when John turned the offer down, but made it clear that the job was always open.
A girl stepped out of the car, holding onto a white duffel bag that seemed less than half full. John noticed immediately that she was glaring at him and wasn't taking her eyes off him. There was so much anger in this girl that she looked to be vibrating in it, even as she stood perfectly still. The girl was slight. At twelve years old, she stood no taller than five feet and John guessed that she was no more than seventy pounds. Who in the hell had been neglecting this kid so much?
"John, I'd like you to meet someone. Ronnie, come over here, sweetie."
Ronnie took her bag and threw it over her shoulder, marching over to Gil with much more force than necessary. John took note of her demeanor. I have a lot of work on my hands, he thought. This kid was fuming, and he'd only known her for approximately sixty seconds. Gil had said her stay would only be for two weeks. Suddenly, fourteen days seemed like an eternity.
"John Winchester, this is Veronica Wells. Ronnie, this is Mr. Winchester. You'll be staying with him for a few days."
"I know the drill by now." Ronnie snapped, and John was startled at the amount of venom in her voice. "You'll dump me here, find somebody else to let me crash at their place, and two months from now, you'll pick me up just to go through all this again."
John wanted so very, very badly to tell her to tone down the attitude, that she was a guest at his house and that attitude towards adults would not be tolerated. But Gil had dealt with her tantrums before, and he expertly placed a hand on her shoulder.
"You promised you'd give him a chance. Do it for me, please."
"Fine."
Biting his tongue so hard he could feel it aching, John stood up from the porch swing and extended his hand. "It's nice to meet you, Veronica. You can call me John."
"My name is Ronnie."
"And that's about all the attitude I'm going to take from you, young lady. You're a guest in this house and I expect you to behave. That includes respecting all the adults around here. You got it?"
"Whatever. Can I go inside?"
"If you ask politely, absolutely."
Ronnie huffed again and gritted her teeth hard. "May I please go inside?"
"Sure. Your room's the first one upstairs and to the right. I'll be up in a minute."
"Don't bother. I don't have much unpacking. I never do."
Ronnie walked inside and John stared incredulously at his friend.
"I know. I know. I'm hoping a few days with you will knock off some of her rough edges."
"Rough edges?" John asked. "Gil, I feel like you're setting me up here."
"John, please. You don't know her history. If she doesn't stay with you, she'll have to go to a group home. Every time she goes, her stuff gets stolen or worse. Please, please do this for me. Just keep her safe for a few days and I'll be back when I find another family for her."
"I told you I'd do it, I'll do it. But damn, Gil."
"I know. Trust me, I get it. Just…do your best, okay? I have faith in you. You can do this."
"Fine. But you owe me. Big time."
Gil left and John walked inside. Ronnie had found her bedroom and was sitting on the bed glaring at the wall. Her bag laid unopened in front of her.
"Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. Why don't you wash up? Bathroom's right here."
"I'm not hungry." Ronnie snapped.
"And I didn't give you the option. You don't have to eat if you don't want to, but you will sit at the dinner table and be civil. Am I clear?"
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
"What are you talking about?"
John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose against the oncoming headache. "Ronnie, you're twelve years old…"
"Thirteen."
"What?"
"Are you deaf or something? I. Am. Thirteen."
"Gil said…"
"He forgot my birthday just like everyone else does every year."
John nodded, relieved to see an opening he didn't expect. "Happy birthday."
"Gee thanks." Ronnie said sarcastically. "Your sincerity is heartwarming."
"Look, tomorrow if toy want I'll take toy out for your birthday. Anywhere you want to go. But like I said, right now it's dinner time. Wash your hands and be downstairs in five minutes."
John turned and started to head downstairs. I'm gonna strangle this kid. Ronnie's muttering didn't help matters.
"Could at least say please…"
Taking one deep breath in and letting it out very slowly, John said in his best and most patient voice, "Please."
He wondered as he got to the kitchen if Ronnie had reacted the same way Sam and Dean would have-shocked their father could hear them. As he set out plates and silverware, he muttered to himself,
"This is gonna be a long two weeks."