A/N: Sadly, we are nearing the end of the oneshots we have finished and ready to post for this series, but we have more in progress; we just have to figure out how to finish them. There are two more oneshots we have finished in this series, then the posts will come to an end until we finish the others. Sorry.

Montana

June 1985

John sat on the couch, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, fingers fisted in his hair, the heels of his hands pressed against his temples, hoping to alleviate the headache pounding just under the surface. He wasn't prone to headaches, but he'd had his fair share. This headache, though, had a specific name, age, and gender.

Sammy, two, male.

"Are you hungry, Sammy?"

"No."

"Thirsty?"

"No."

"Do you want to play a game?"

"No."

"I think it's time for a nap."

"No!"

That had been followed by the patter of little feet wearing miniature tan work boots running away. John went in pursuit, knowing exactly how much damage his entirely too bright, younger son was capable of doing.

The elder Winchester got into the hallway just in time to see the bathroom door close and hear the lock click. Panic had assailed the father, thinking of all the stories he'd heard of children drowning…he couldn't lose Sammy. He'd rushed forward, his heart pounding.

"Oh, sh…Sammy, unlock the door!" John's heart was pounding the whole time.

"No!"

The response had been muffled, coming from further down the hall seconds before the lock on John's bedroom door had also clicked. Only then had the elder Winchester remembered the sliding door between his bedroom and the bathroom.

John stood in a momentary stunned silence. The little shit had known enough to lock both doors. Well, at least that must mean he was smart enough not to drown himself in the bathroom. Every parent always wished for smart children without taking into account the fact that geniuses went through childhood as well…and were a bigger pain than normal kids.

'Just my luck that Sam's as far from normal as possible, and a smart little shit to boot.'

"Sammy…"

"No."

'Okay…I'm not above using bribes in times of desperation.'

"Dean will be home soon."

Silence. Maybe he was actually considering…

"No!"

John grit his teeth together as he made his way toward the kitchen where items for picking locks were kept, silently wondering if abusive parents were simply people who went insane during the toddler years. Probably not, but stress didn't make John think well.

It had taken twenty minutes to get to the toddler and had required the use of a now ruined credit card and bent butter knife to get the door unlocked. Upon getting the door open John had nearly been sent tumbling as the two year old had run out the door, straight between his legs, heading for the other bedroom.

Quickly John had run after his son, snaring him by the back of his t-shirt a mere heartbeat before he reached his destination. Restraining the boy with one arm around his small waist the elder had headed for the kitchen, ignoring the kicking feet, swinging arms, and squeals. Upon reaching the kitchen he'd plopped the boy in the high chair and buckled him in before trapping him there with the tray, and grabbed a sippy-cup of juice and a box of Lucky Charms.

Positioning the high chair so it could be seen from the living room John had set the juice down, poured a pile of cereal on the tray, and left Sammy there to do as he pleased. Setting the box of cereal back on the counter he'd made a bee-line for the living room and collapsed onto the couch where he'd remained for the last ten minutes, listening as Sammy played with his snack, babbling to himself, and occasionally crunching a piece of cereal, apparently happy now that he'd done his best to drive his father straight to the funny farm and back. Was that in every person's contract before they were allowed to be born…parents must be driven insane on a regular basis.

Dean had never been this bad. Or maybe he had and Mary had just known how to deal with it better than John. That and Mary was always the one who had been home with Dean during the day. Either way, he found himself wishing his beautiful wife was beside him now. Hell, anyone who was willing to help him would be much appreciated.

Luckily, Dean would be getting off his school bus about now and would be walking through that door any minute.

'Speak of the devil,' John thought as the kitchen door opened, prior to a thud as Dean's backpack hit the floor, followed by two shoes impacting with the wall as they were kicked off. Next came the sound of the fridge opening and closing as Dean grabbed a juice box.

John followed the routine mentally, well accustomed to it. Everyday was the same. Normally John would get up and meet his elder son in the kitchen, but today he simply lacked the energy.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said as he stopped by his little brother, "Whatcha got there?"

"Cer'yal." Sam said happily, holding a soggy piece out for his brother to taste.

Dean shook his head with a grin, "Nah, you eat it, Sammy."

The elder boy ruffled the toddler's shaggy dark hair before waking into the living room, "Dad?"

A small sigh escaped John. Dean had only recently decided that, seeing as he was 6 ½, he was too old say 'Daddy' anymore. John missed it, and looked forward to the times his elder son slipped up and called him 'Daddy' again.

A small hand on his shoulder drew John's attention to Dean as the boy asked, "What's wrong?"

"I think a demon has taken residence inside your brother."

A small grin crossed Dean's face, "You always say that, Daddy."

There's that beautiful word.

"Well…I mean it this time." John insisted, "No matter what I say, his answer is no. I asked him if he was hungry, he said no. I asked him if he was thirsty, he said no. I asked him if he wanted to play a game, he said no. I said it was time for a nap, he screamed no, locked himself in the bathroom…and knew enough to lock my bedroom door…"

John cut off when he heard the tiny giggle escape Dean. His gaze narrowed in mock anger, "Are you laughing at me?"

The boy pursed his lips to hide his smile as he shook his head. Giving a playful growl John pulled Dean into his arms, "You are. I can see your smile."

Dean shrieked in laughter as John tickled him. From the kitchen, Sammy's higher pitched baby-giggle joined his brother's, John's deeper laughter completing the moment.

Terrible two's and headaches aside, John Winchester was nothing without his boys, and would fight to the death to keep them safe from anything and anyone. He'd take on the world...

And he'd win every time.

END