Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural in any way, shape, or form
Author's Note: I'm starting to feel guilty...I really do love John, but it seems that in every story I protray him seeing red. And, every time, I promise to write a story showing him a positive light. I'm getting to that...eventually. For now, just remember that we really all do love John Winchester...sort of.
"It is the ignorant and childish part of man that is the fighting part." - Ralph Waldo Emerson
The rear of the car smashed into a huge tree and ran upwards a little bit, causing John to tumble out of the back seat and Caleb and Dean to be thrust forward in the front.
"Fuck! What the fuck happened? How the fuck am I on the fucking floor -"
"Dean? Are you okay?"
Dean was only then conscious that he was still on the phone with his brother. Quick as a flash, he whipped up a lie. "Yeah, Caleb hit a bump and it jostled Dad's leg. I've really got to go now kid, bye." He hung up quickly. "Damn it, Caleb, what the hell did you do?"
Caleb was already unbuckling himself and getting out of the car. "Oh shit," he murmured, looking at the damage. Dean was hopping out of the car as well, and he whistled. "Johnny boy's going to kill me," Caleb murmured, his eyes widening.
"He sure as fucking hell will!" John yelled from the back seat, where he was struggling to get up and out of the back seat.
"Dad, hold on, don't try to come out this way!" Dean shouted. He quickly raced around and threw open the front seat, helping the irate man climb through to the front seats and get out through the front door. He started to hobble over to Caleb.
"Dad, you should really sit –"
John whipped around. "Don't try to tell me what I should and should not do, you understand me?"
Dean fell back, leaning against the wreckage of the old car and wincing as he father whaled one across Caleb's face. The younger man stumbled backwards a few paces, holding his hands up to his face as blood gushed from his nose. His face reddened in fury. "What was that for?" he shouted.
"You may be stupid enough to crash this car, but I know you aren't stupid enough to not understand that!"
Instantly, Caleb was shedding his sweatshirt and nodding. "Bring it on, old man!"
"What did you call me?"
"A very old and decrepit 'Chester!"
Before Dean knew it the two were punching each other. He jumped up and sprinted over, placing himself between the two older men. "Quit it!" he shouted, putting one hand on Caleb's chest and another he pushed into his father's stomach.
"Scram, Dean!" Caleb roared.
"Don't you tell him what to do!" John yelled, grabbing Caleb by the collar.
"I said quit it!" Dean roared, loud enough for the birds in the tree the car was smashed into to fly away and for the two old goats butting heads to momentarily stop and stare in amazement at the young teenager.
Sam sighed as he stared at the clock.
"A watched pot never boils," Jim said from his place on the couch where he was reading the remains of the newspaper he had not yet burned.
"What?"
"Don't mind him," a young, built, blonde man smiled as he entered the living room, cradling his own cup of hot chocolate. "He speaks in foreign tongues."
"Josh!" Sam said with a grin, forgetting his impatience and springing up from his place where he was staring. The elder man crouched down and caught the boy in a light hug. He was tall, a strapping six foot five, and with a head full of blonde hair, full white smile, and bulging biceps, he looked more like an overgrown high school quarterback than a hunter.
"Didn't even hear you come in," Jim said as he folded up and paper and stood up to shake Josh's hand and offer him a light bump on the back.
"Well, what can I say, I was trained on how to snoop around by the best." He flashed a smile before he sipped his hot chocolate, wincing as he burned his tongue on it. He swore and dropped the mug in surprise, and Jim offered him a stern look.
"Sorry," he murmured, "I'll get a rag." He glanced at Sam. "You going to just stand there and gape at me or help me clean this up?"
"Joshua," Jim warned again.
Josh raised his eyebrows. "Sorry, moving." He trekked towards the kitchen, Sam on his tail.
"I didn't think you were coming," he admitted as Josh dug beneath the sink, looking for a rag. He boosted himself up and sat on the counter, lightly tapping the heels of his feet on the drawer beneath the countertop.
"And why wouldn't I come? It's Christmas."
"Because you never visit anymore," Sam said pointedly, with a small glare. "You cleaned out your room and everything, all that's left there is Caleb's stuff. The only time we get to see you is when you hunt with Caleb and Daddy goes with you two. But he told me and Dean –"
"Dean and I," the young man corrected, muttering darkly as he bumped his head into a pipe.
"Dean and I that he only hunts with you and Caleb 'cause Jim makes him. Jim tells him that there should be forgiveness and second chances even for the folks who don't deserve them."
The pastor, who was listening in from the other room as he lit a cigar and picked up the paper once again, chuckled to himself. Sammy Winchester – he was a therapist's dream; the type that would spill his soul to you and your brother in under a minute.
Joshua came out from under the sink, squatting on his heels. "Yeah, your Dad and I don't get on too well, Kid."
Sam raised his eyebrows. "But why?"
Josh ran a hand through his hair. "Anyone ever tell you that you ask too many questions?" His face was growing hot, and he felt his temper begin on its out-of-control spiral.
"Daddy tells me that every day."
"Well, your father is right about one thing, that's for sure."
Dean was nervous. He picked up a dead leaf from the ground and ripped it apart in his fingers as he watched the two older men warily.
No one had taken any action on getting them home, save him and Caleb pushing the car down so that it was now level with the ground. Caleb was now perched on the hood of the car, staring at the cars that brushed by. His hand was swelling, and by the way that he was hunched over Dean couldn't help but suspect that his father had left some bruising on the young man's stomach. Dried blood was caked underneath of his nose.
John, on the other hand, was leaned up against the other side of the tree, rubbing his injured leg, mumbling something angrily. A nice shiner was already appearing around his right eye, along with one that was blooming across his cheekbone.
Dean sighed in frustration. "Let's call someone to tow the car."
John gave him a look; Caleb offered a shrug.
Dean sighed. "Well, what are we going to do, just sit here?"
No response, save that of the whistling wind. Dean wrapped his arms around his sides, closing his eyes and wishing desperately for his warm winter jacket which was sitting in the back closet of Jim's house.
Exasperated, he threw his arms into the air and slapped his hands onto the frozen ground with a grunt, causing John and Caleb to peer over.
"If the two of you are too stubborn to do give in, think about Sam for crying out loud! We left him on Christmas in the first place, so now we're going to make him go the whole day with just Jim, the whole day with no presents?" Dean shook his head in frustration before he mumbled, "Two of you are selfish bastards…"
In an instant John had pounced upon his son, grabbing him by the shoulders. "What did you say?"
For only a moment Dean let himself tremble before he looked his father square in the eye. "I said that you're a selfish –"
John raised his hand to strike and Dean flinched before Caleb worked his way in-between, pushing the older man away. "Don't you touch him!" he roared.
Fuming, John stumbled back up, brushing dirt off himself and wincing noticeably as he put weight on his injured leg. "Don't you try to –"
"To what, Johnny boy?" Caleb shot. "To protect him? After all of those years whining at me – 'No Caleb, stay home, look after Sam and Dean' – 'No Caleb, me and your brother are going to go, you watch Sam and Dean' – 'How could you be so stupid Caleb, how could you let them out from under your feet?'" His pale face was working its way to a light pink. "I spend all those years looking after your boys and now you're going to tell me to step back?"
"Caleb," Dean whispered, "knock it off!"
John pushed his finger into the chest of the younger man. "You know perfectly well that this is a different situation."
"Do I? Do I know, Johnny boy? Because according to you, I don't know anything. According to you, I have no ideas or thoughts. I am the Winchester Boys' babysitter." He let out a hollow laugh, and then shook his head. "Or should I say was. Because when Joshua, when fine young Joshy-poo turned out to be the better hunter of the two of us, he was your little hunting buddy. But then you and Joshy had a little squabble and suddenly there was a big boo-boo between the two of you, and Caleb, Babysitter Extraordinaire, got promoted to Caleb, Hunter Extraordinaire. But riddle me this, John," he laughed again, and licked his chapped lips. "If you and Joshy were still speaking to each other, would Caleb be a hunter? Would Caleb be here right now? No, Caleb would be back, sitting in Jim's parlor, dressed up as Santa Claus and handing out presents."
A little bit of the swing was expelled from John's step, and his pounding heart was beginning to slow. "Caleb," he said, "you know that isn't true."
Caleb folded his arms. "No, John, I don't know. But you know what I do know? I know that I'm sick and tired of being treated like some sort of goddamn dog you can just command around. Sit Caleb! Stay Caleb! Roll over Caleb!"
John sighed, scrubbing his hand over his unshaven face. "Caleb, when Jim marched you into his home you were thirteen years old. You were a skinny, scrawny little thing with a bad attitude and a set of lungs full of cigarette smoke."
"Point being…?"
"You weren't ready to be a hunter."
"And Joshua was?"
John sighed. "Caleb, your brother…"
"Had some discipline, had overcome obstacles, he was older, he wasn't Caleb…yadda yadda yadda, I've heard the whole spiel from Jim."
"Caleb…" John said, and for a moment Dean saw his father's face appear contrite, empathy in the tone of his voice.
Caleb held up a head. "I'm not looking to make nice here, John." He sighed, and pushed his hands into the front pouch of his sweatshirt. "C'mon, Dean's right, Sammy doesn't deserve this. Let's…I dunno, call Bobby, get him to tow this thing back to the house and get this darn holiday over with." He stormed over towards the Impala and sat down on it again, digging into his pocket to light up a cigarette while Dean and John stared in dismay.