A/N: Hello dear readers! So I've been thinking of giving this fic a theme song, like how Supernatural has Carry on my Wayward Son. It is kind of a spinoff, after all, and I heard Cat's in the Cradle by Cat Stevens and I was thinking of using it (Seriously, listen to it, it's perfect. I cried). It would serve the same purpose as in the show, use it to herald in a "finale" group of chapters. What do you guys think? Hundley: Yes, Cas is still there, sometimes. He just can't stay away, can he? We'll see what happens in the happiness department, but unfortunately, it is rarely up for very long. Many more chapters to come. CarverEdlundtheLast: Thank you for your comments. I'm glad you enjoyed it. They really don't get to be truly happy very often, and so I love writing it when I get the chance. Here you go, I updated it! ncsupnatfan: Always lovely to hear from you. By the way, I would just like to take this opportunity to say: To all of my faithful reviewers, THANK YOU! YOU ARE AWESOME! Anyway, getting back to your specific review, I'm glad you enjoyed it. I adore the Harvelles and I have a great time writing them. And familial fluff is always fun. CatstielWinchespurr: Oh, you promise not to be a ghost? Okay. I'll put away the salt and iron then. No, but in all seriousness, Yay! You're back! I've missed you, if it's all right to say. Awww, you're all so sweet about my plot… thank you. It really helps me when you guys review because I always write something and then instantly start thinking about how stupid and amateurish it sounds. I love you guys!

I do not own Supernatural or its characters.


Chapter 24: A+ Parenting


Four days later, Dean woke up in a motel room. He had a distinct feeling that he was forgetting something, something important, but as he could not think what it could possibly be, he decided to let it go.

Leaving Sam sleeping on the bed, he walked into the kitchenette, moving a chair over to the counter to pour some spagettios into a pot and turn on the stove. Daddy was out, as usual, doing some research for a salt and burn. As he reached in a spoon to stir the unappetizing mixture, he accidentally burned his arm, yelling in pain and falling off the chair as he jerked away. He landed on his back, the wind knocked out of him.

Dean stayed where he was a moment, trying to get his breath back, nursing his throbbing arm as pained tears leaked from his eyes. He wasn't crying, exactly, he thought, his eyes were putting out water of their own free will, independent to all orders from their superior.

He moaned as he got to his feet, moving the chair across the room to run some cold water over the burn. It didn't look too bad, certainly not anything he couldn't handle. He hoped the day got better. This was not fun. Finally he moved back to the stove, stirring the stuff until it was ready, then poured it into two bowls on the table and moved off into the bedroom.

Dean climbed on the bed and shook Sam awake. "Hey. Hey, you wanna get up? I made breakfast."

Sam groaned a little, eyes flicking open. He smiled, "Goo…"

Dean felt confused, "Good? What's good?"

Sam shook his head. He didn't expect his brother to understand. Dean didn't know about the dreams, so he didn't know how happy Sam was when he had a nice one. He and Dean had been knights, like in Dean's book, riding around on horses, fighting brigands, and climbing castle walls, which should have been difficult at their size, but wasn't. They had even met a dragon! It talked. It was really nice and helped them find a treasure trove, which looked suspiciously like Uncle Bobby's house. It was so rare for him to have normal, nice dreams that made no sense, and he was in an especially good mood today.

He grinned at his brother and climbed off the bed, running out of the room to leave a rather confused Dean to try to figure out what was going on.

Dean walked into the kitchen to see Sam standing beside a chair staring forlornly up at the table. Turning around to look at him, Sam pointed at the tabletop, "Up!"

Dean chuckled, walking across the room toward his brother, "Okay, Sammy." He piled some books and cushions onto the seat, then lifted Sam onto the chair, "Heeere you go." Sam smiled at him.


Daddy came home a couple of days later, stopping by the kitchen table where Dean was practicing his math skills. He kissed the top of the boy's head, "Hey, buddy. Whatcha doing?"

"Practice. It's important."

John chuckled, "Yeah, well, let's take a break from that." He set a newspaper-wrapped package on the table, pulled out a chair, and, sighing, sat down beside him. "Dean I'm sorry. A couple of days ago… I should've been here." Dean stared at him, confused. Why was he apologizing?

"It's okay, Daddy. You had work."

"No, it's not. It was your birthday and you were alone. I-I'm sorry."

Oh. So that's what he had been forgetting. It didn't matter, not really. Daddy was busy. "I wasn't alone. I had Sammy."

"Will you just let me apologize?! Damn." Daddy suddenly sounded very annoyed. Dean's smile vanished.

"I'm sorry," he said in a small voice.

John sighed, "Just open your present." Still the same annoyance. Dean eyed him nervously as he unwrapped it, revealing a set of Legos. He smiled at Daddy, "Thank you. Sammy should love these."

John smiled back. It was so sweet how kind Dean was to his brother. John had seen so many siblings who seemed to hate each other, he was glad that his children seemed to be the exception. He stood up, hugging his son, "Good. Listen, I'm gonna go take a shower. I wanna see this room all packed up when I get back."

Dean straightened in his seat, smiling as he barked out a "Yes sir!"

John grinned, ruffling the boy's hair, "Good boy. See you in ten."


Dean stared out the window, watching the countryside roll by. There was nothing visible for miles, just pasture and cropland, currently covered in snow, the sky a cloudless, cold, winter blue. Born in the USA by Bruce Springsteen played on the radio. Dean couldn't help but think how wonderful things had been lately, he hoped it lasted. Happiness was all too rare for their family.

Suddenly John pulled off the road, parking in a wide grassy area beside the asphalt. "Come on, Dean," he said, unbuckling himself and getting out of the car. Dean watched that side of the car quizzically, wondering what was going on. He jumped as someone knocked on his window. Daddy spoke through it, "You getting out or not?" Dean exited the car and followed his father toward a nearby fence, shielded from view of the road by a stand of trees. He glanced at the duffle John carried. "What's in there, Daddy?" John unzipped it, setting empty beer bottles and cans on the fence as he spoke, "Well, Dean, I've been thinking: You're gonna have to learn how to do this eventually anyway. I'd been hoping to put it off a little more, but… If you're gonna go around shooting people, you'd better know how to aim." He sighed a little as he turned away from the fence. He hated this. Dean was six, he shouldn't have to know these things. Still, he'd thought it over long and hard, and this was the only way. Dean's innocence wasn't worth his life. Oh, quit it John. It isn't like you taking him on a hunt. After a moment he added, It isn't like he hasn't already shot a man. The thought didn't stop him from thinking himself a lousy father as he walked a few yards away and beckoned Dean, pulling out a pistol as he got close. He knelt down in front of the boy, holding the weapon out to him, "Okay Dean, let's see you hold it."

Dean stared at it, memories of his previous contact with the item flooding his brain. He didn't want to relive that, ever. The experience had been horrible, but Daddy was holding the thing out to him now, asking him to take it. Dean trusted Daddy, the man would never hurt him, but he would be disappointed if Dean was scared. He would never disappoint Daddy. He couldn't. He took the gun.

"Okay, now let's see how much you know from cleaning these things. Take off the safety." Dean followed directions, moving to face the fence as Daddy moved to stand by his side.

"Shoot that first bottle. Take your time, aim carefully. Remember, in the field a fraction of an inch can mean the difference between getting the thing, and it getting you." Dean tilted his head, squeezing one eye shut as he sighted the first target, pistol held in both hands. John continued to talk, "Watch out for the kickback. You're still kind of little for regular guns. You can't let it throw you."

They stood for perhaps another half a minute. Finally Dean pressed the trigger, allowing the kickback to throw his arms back beside his head, the gun aimed at the sky. He would have fallen over completely if John hadn't held a hand to his back to keep him up.

"Look, Dean." There was a pride and genuine warmth to his voice that Dean was thrilled to hear. He would have walked over hot coals barefoot to hear it again, and he looked where Daddy was pointing. The bottle was smashed, only broken glass remained where it had sat.

"Okay. Let's try the next one!" Daddy sounded so excited, Dean couldn't help but grin as he moved to aim at the next target. He caught sight of a proud smile on his father's face, and he focused even harder on the next bottle, determined to do even better and earn another smile.


"Slow down, John. What happened?"

"He hit all of them! Every single one! First time ever, and he shoots a perfect game!" John half-yelled into the phone in his excitement. He generally tried to avoid talking to Bobby, the man was far too judgmental and John didn't like listening to parenting lectures, but he had had to tell someone, otherwise he had felt he would burst from pride and excitement. So here he stood, cramped into a small glass booth at a gas station, yelling at Bobby through the phone.

"He what?" John failed to notice the tone of the words.

"Exactly, Bobby! I couldn't believe it either! Kid's a natural!"

"You took Dean shooting?" John sighed. Bobby seemed to be rather missing the point. He leaned an arm on the side of the booth as Bobby continued, "He's barely six, John! What the hell are you doing?"
"I'm protecting him," John said, his tone turning serious.

"How is that pr-"

He straightened, "Look, I don't like it any better than you do. But look at the facts, he's already shot a guy, and there are lots of monsters that are only too glad too chow down on kids. I hate it but… I don't see another option. A little bit of training could be the difference between life and death for both of them."

Bobby sighed, "Yeah, I guess you're right. I just… I wish it didn't have to be like this."

John took a long look at the car, where Dean was messing around on the dash, "Me too." He turned away, "You know, sometimes I wonder what Mary would say, you know, if she'd hate me. It's just… there are days where I feel like I'd die, like revenge is the only thing keeping me sane. You understand, don't you?" He didn't know why he was telling Bobby all this, he supposed right now he really needed Mary's forgiveness, but that wasn't going to happen and Bobby was on hand. He had to talk to someone. He was desperate.

"Oh yeah, you bet I understand. Just… be careful it don't take over your life. You know you gotta live 'til you catch this thing."

"Where'd you come up with that one?" He joked.

Bobby's tone did not change, "Same place as most people: I had a really crappy day. I'm serious, John. Obsession ruins relationships." Bobby recalled Rufus, and how he himself had ruined the best friendship he had ever had.

"Yeah, well, don't worry. I'll be careful. Talk to you later, Bobby."

"You too."

John hung up and walked back to the car, starting it up and turning on the heat. Dean eyed him guiltily, hoping he wouldn't notice the way the vents were rattling. He had been stultifying bored, but now that he had time to think about it, maybe sticking some of his new Legos down the vents wasn't such a good idea.


A/N: Aaand we have our first canon flashback! Sort of. :) Bonus points to anyone who can name the two episodes scenes in this chapter were pulled out of, and which scenes.