Title: Unrelated, 4/9
Art by: beelikej
Pairing: John/Mary, John/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Total Word Count: 4525
Warnings: Explicit slash
Disclaimer: If only John and Dean were mine... *sigh*

A/N: See all the great art, along with all my other stories on my LJ (john-n-dean dot livejournal dot com). Dean is not a Winchester in this story.

Chapter 4

"Hey, old man."

John froze in mid-movement as he tightened up a bolt. That was Dean's voice, echoing slightly against the concrete walls and floor of the garage. Dean, who he hadn't seen in person in four years, who'd been making a name for himself in the Corps for the past eight. Dean who was finally back home. He looked up from the engine he'd been elbow deep in all day to see the boy – the man, now – standing in the middle of his garage wearing desert fatigues with a huge tan duffel slung over his shoulder. He was just as beautiful as ever but his features were almost devoid of all the softness of his youth. He had always been sure of himself and John could see that he still was, but this was different. It wasn't the cocksure swagger of youth anymore. It was more mature. He was more mature. "Dean. Thought you'd be home with your family your first few days back."

The boy blushed and looked away. He seemed suddenly unsure and his shyness reminded John of the day they met. "I…"

"I'm glad you came, though. It's good to see you back in one piece."

"I always follow order, sir," Dean said as he met his eye again and smiled. He could see the ghosts in the boy's eyes and smile. Mementos of war. "It's good to be back in one piece. But an Abrams is probably the safest place to be in a warzone." His smile faltered. "I, uhm," he cleared his throat and fidgeted. "I heard about Michael gettin' wounded in Fallujah. How's doin'?"

John sighed. "He'll be alright. He's plannin' on stayin' in the Corps. Mary's not too happy about that." If she knew that he was in Special Forces, she'd be even less happy. It was bad enough that he was a sniper like John had been and that Robert was a Recon Marine. Riley was a pilot. It seemed that none of John's kids were content with just being a Marine, which was dangerous enough since they were invariably on the front lines. No, they had to take jobs that were dangerous even for Marines. And they were racking up the medals to prove it.

"Where is everybody?"

"Andrew's only working half days while he finishes up his last few months at Kansas. Jeremy's taking his girl out to lunch."

"You don't have another guy?"

"You are my other guy."

"Yeah… but I've been away for eight years. I thought you already replaced me."

"Nope. We did have a kid for a few years, but he moved last month. Never got anyone else 'cause I knew you were comin' back."

"So… I still have my job?"

"Course you do. I'd never give away a fellow Marine's job. And I had the apartment upstairs cleaned out last week. In case you needed your own place."

Dean grinned broadly, his military composure completely forgotten. "Hell yeah!"

"Good. Hate for all that effort to be for nothin'. You can move in whenever you're ready. I expect you to be at work first thing Monday."

"That's almost a week away."

"You just got home, kiddo. Take some shore leave."

Dean nodded. "You eat yet?"

"Nope. You offerin' to buy me lunch, soldier?"

"Got almost eight full years' worth of pay burnin' a hole in my bank account."

John snorted. "Just let me finish this up and we'll go wherever you want." He told himself it was just to make sure the boy was really okay, to let him know he had someone to talk to who understood, who know how fucked up combat could make a man and wouldn't judge him. It had the added benefit of being mostly true. But he had other reasons to look forward to lunch with Dean that were much less honorable.

SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN

When Michael got married about six months after Sam, it had been a happier occasion for both John and Mary. They felt as though Michael knew what he was getting into, and knew the girl he was going to marry. The two were comfortable with each other. But it didn't surprise him since Michael had always been his steadiest child. Quiet and serious, he'd practically been an adult before he hit double digits. John had always had to remind himself that the boy was just that… a boy. He hoped he and Mary were right about the likelihood of Michael's marriage succeeding as much as he hoped they were wrong about Sam's failing.

Then, a year after the wedding, Michael and Karen announced that they were expecting. John had spent the next six months vacillating between being excited about finally becoming a grandfather and feeling like he was far too young for some kid to be calling him grandpa. His son was deployed in the Middle East, unable to return for almost another year. Mary had gone to Camp Pendleton two weeks before the due date to help Karen out. The girl's mother had died a few years before in a car accident and with Michael gone, she was completely alone.

The minute Mary called to tell him that Karen was in labor, he booked the first flight out available. He arrived at the hospital half an hour after his first grandchild was born. It was a girl and they'd named her after Mary and Karen's mom. The hospital allowed the babies to stay in their mother's rooms.

"Do you mind?" he asked his daughter-in-law as he pointed at the tiny bundle in the crib.

"No, of course not, grandpa," she said with a small weary smile.

He smiled at that. Maybe he wouldn't mind being called that after all. He gently scooped up the tiny bundle and stared down at the little scrunched up face. "I almost forgot how tiny they start off," he said in a hushed voice. There was something about holding a baby, especially a brand new one, that made you believe in miracles.

"I know," Mary said, standing beside him and cupping the top of the baby's head. "Amazing, isn't it? Then they grow up and eat all your food and give you gray hair."

John snorted and glanced over at Karen, who'd fallen asleep. "Yeah. But the beauty of grandkids? We can spoil 'em rotten and then send 'em home when they start gettin' on our nerves. I swear I thought the Colonel had lost his mind when I saw him with Sam."

John could only stay a couple of days. Mary stayed another few weeks, until she felt comfortable leaving the first time mother on her own.

SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN

"If any of my children come back in boxes, I will never forgive you."

Mary's voice was colder than he could ever remember it being before. They'd just come back from seeing Andrew off on his deployment to Afghanistan. The boy was barely twenty one and looked fifteen to John. Four of their six children were in the military, all except Sammy and Shauna. Shauna was in the FBI so that was almost as bad from Mary's prospective. But she hadn't really said anything before to let him know how badly she objected. He should have expected this, should have seen it coming a mile away.

"It was their decision to serve, Mary," he countered. It sounded like a weak excuse in the face of her anger and fear, but it was true.

"Because they knew that's what you wanted."

He wanted them to live with honor, and he was proud that most of their children had decided to follow his family's – and hers, quite frankly – tradition of service. She made that sound like it was his plan to send them all off to war with the hope that they would never return. "What exactly are you tryin' to say here?"

"All that talk about the Corps," she spit out the word like it was a curse, "and how every generation in your family had somebody in it, and what a great man the Colonel was."

It was bad enough that she was maligning the Corps, but attacking his father was a low blow. The Colonel's death was still raw, like a wound that threatened to never heal. Part of him felt like something of an orphan, adrift and purposeless, never mind that he had children of his own now. He was so many things, but part of him had never stopped defining himself as the Colonel's son and now that part of him wasn't sure who he was anymore. "My father was a great man. He served with honor."

"Oh, there's one of your favorite words. Honor. Honor and duty. Well fuck honor and duty! I want my kids alive and safe."

"The world is only as safe as we make it."

"You can't make safety with violence!"

"You can't stop despots and madmen who want to kill us for no goddamn good reason with daisies and sing-alongs either."

"Maybe if the military industrial complex would stop killing their people and stealing their oil, they wouldn't want to hurt us."

"Mil- Are you fucking serious? I can't believe that after all these years we're still having this argument. You know me; you know how much I love our kids!"

"But you love the Corps more, don't you?"

"How can you say that? Nothing is more important to me than my kids."

"But they're not too important to keep out of harm's way, are they?"

"Maybe you missed it, sweetheart, but you married a Winchester. You're kids are Winchesters. Winchesters don't run from danger. We step up. That's who we are, who we've always been. You knew that going in. It had to occur to you that at least some of them would end up in the Corps."

Mary didn't respond. She stood staring at him for a few moments like she didn't recognizing him before stalking away. He heard their bedroom door slam a few moments later and resigned himself to another night on the couch. He sighed. He didn't have the energy for this. All his children were gone somewhere. Yes, Sammy was back in town, but he was married and was trying to get established at work. He barely saw the kid despite only living about twenty minutes away from him.

SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN

John stood in the doorway of Andrew's room and steeled himself for what he had to do. Andrew was his baby boy. Sometimes he still thought of him as that happy independent child who would insist on doing everything himself. Of all their children, this boy was the very best parts of John and Mary. But he'd come home after only six months active duty courtesy of an IUD that blew off the lower part of his right leg. Then there were the scars that covered much of his body. There was barely any trace of that baby in his son now.

At first he was afraid the kid would also have to suffer the loss of both parents as well as his leg because he was sure that Mary would kill him and land herself in jail. Especially before Andrew was well enough to be shipped home. She'd been angry, cold. Luckily it wasn't in Mary's nature to hold onto grudges, even when she had such excellent material to work with. She'd thawed slowly. Their relationship was still frosty, but he no longer half-seriously wondered if she would put rat poison in his food.

He'd left the boy to brood for a week, but he was afraid to let it go on any longer. Afraid he'd wake up one day to find that the boy had succeeded where that damn explosion had failed. He'd known men who came home wounded and ended up killing themselves. One of his uncles had done that, and his grandparents seemed to shrivel up afterwards, like they were dying a piece at a time every day. He understood why now. The idea of finding the boy dead in his bed scared the hell out of him. Woke him up in a cold sweat and made him check on him in the middle of the night.

"Andrew?" There was no answer. The boy just stared at the wall, oblivious to anything going on around him. It was still jarring and painful to see nothing where the rest of his right leg should be. John exhaled through his nose. "It's time for your rehab and prosthetic fitting appointments, kiddo."

Andrew swallowed, but still said nothing. John knew the boy was hearing him whether he wanted to or not.

"I'm not letting you lie in bed another day, son. I made you an appointment with the therapist so you can get back on your feet and we can order your prosthetics."

"Only got on foot," the boy finally said sullenly

"That's why you need a prosthetic, smart ass."

"Go away."

"Can't do that. This goes one of two ways, kiddo. You can get up, or I can get you up."

Andrew was silent for a couple of seconds, swallowing convulsively. "Everybody stares," he finally said, sounding so damn young. Too young to have been off to war at all, definitely too young to come back with half a leg missing.

"Yeah… have you seen your parents? You've got damn good genes. Of course they stare."

Andrew finally looked at him. He looked haggard and sickly, like he was at the beginning stages of wasting away. There were dark blue-black smudges under his eyes that looked like he'd smeared motor oil under them. It made John's heart lurch painfully in his chest, but he showed none of it on his face. "They stare at me 'cause I'm a freak now. Because I'm scarred."

John sat on the edge of the bed and took one of Andrew's scarred hands in his. He'd been cut up badly by the shrapnel. Even his face had a deep gash along his temple where a piece of twisted metal would have blinded him if it had been a millimeter to the right. It was all healing, but it would take time. "Most of them will disappear on their own. We can afford to get you more surgery if you want to minimize the ones that won't, especially the one on your face. You have to give it time, son. And you're always gonna get people who stare. But you're no freak. You earned those scars fightin' for your country."

"Dad…" He was crying now, curling up on himself. But it was towards John now rather than away from him.

"Their stares can only hurt you as much as you let 'em," he said as he pulled the boy into an awkward hug. "They can't make you less than what you are. Nothin' in the world can do that, not their stares or you scars or losin' your leg. You're a Winchester. And a Campbell, God help you." He let the boy cry, feeling the hot tears soaking his shirt. "That makes you a tough stubborn son of a bitch twice over. Your life ain't done yet. There is still so much left for you, so much I can't wait to see you accomplish. You lost your leg, but you can still make your mark. Find the love of a good woman, hold your first born in your arms. Do some good in the world. I'm gonna have them fit you for a special prosthetic so we can run together in the mornings, like we used to. Get your strength back."

Once the boy had finished crying his tears, he collapsed back onto the bed, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and sniffing. "I'm sorry."

"For what? You think I didn't cry after Nam? That I didn't have nightmares of my best friend dyin' right next to me?" John shuddered, still able to feel the warmth of Brad's blood splattered all over him to this day. The way it ran down his back as he carried Brad's body to the LZ, because you never left a man behind. Dead or alive.

"How do you deal with it?"

"You grieve and find ways to keep living your life."

The boy yawned wide and deep. "God, I'm tired."

"Oh, none of that, boy. We're runnin' late as it is. Get your ass up."

SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN

When they got back from his appointment, Andrew fell asleep on the couch almost the second he collapsed onto it. He'd worked hard in therapy today and John was proud of him. He deserved the sleep. He lightly touched the bandages covering the stump of the boy's leg, careful not to wake him. They'd been able to save the knee at least, but his son would have a hard road ahead. He covered the boy up with the throw and made sure the crutches were within reach and let him rest.

"How is he?" Mary asked when he came into the kitchen. She smiled at him over her shoulder before going back to chopping vegetables and tossing them in a huge stew pot for dinner. They had been married long enough for him to recognize an olive branch when he saw one. He could only assume that his actions to get Andrew out of his room and at least trying to get his shit back together had earned him some measure of absolution in her eyes. Suddenly he realize that he'd thought maybe this time she'd never forgive him.

"Exhausted. It was a lot of work. He was out almost before his ass hit the couch." He wrapped his arms around her and was relieved when she didn't stiffen. "Speaking of ass…"

She giggled and elbowed him. "Watch yourself, Winchester."

"Want some help?"

"Nah. I'm just about done."

"Good," John said as he kissed the spot behind her ear that always made her shiver. "You'll have some time to kill while it's cookin'."

"John!"

"What?" he asked innocently. "Andrew's asleep. No one else is here. The food's gotta cook a while, right baby?"

SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN

John was waiting for them to tell him what was going on. They all knew, even Dean who pretty much knew everything that any of the kids knew. They apparently didn't realize that there were enough people who were either Winchesters or friends of Winchesters all throughout the Corps that he'd find out what was going on no matter how hard they tried to hide it. He knew about every accommodation, every demerit.

He never told them how he found out about things, and usually never shared what he knew, but he couldn't imagine how they thought he wouldn't find out about Riley's close call with her CO, Thomas Mullins. They'd only gotten a pass because Mullins was at the end of his last tour and the person who caught them was close to members of both sides of Riley's family.

It was a week later that he found out about the party at Mullins' house. It was the day after Thanksgiving and in a rare turn of luck everyone was home for at least part of the holidays. The boys were going and Mary was going and it took him till the day of the party to realize that they weren't going to tell him about it.

Sneaking in hadn't been hard. He kept his skills sharp with his side business. He also fit in with the other jarheads there with his jeans, black shirt and work boots. He was sitting on the couch, leisurely sipping an ice cold beer when someone finally recognized him.

"Dad?"

The room suddenly went quiet enough to hear a pin drop. John looked around. "Don't stop on account o' me."

It was apparent that his reputation – and the fact that he wasn't supposed to know about Riley and Mullins or the party – had preceded him. The room cleared quickly, leaving him with his family and Mullins. The boys, including Dean, were slowly easing their way to the back door. He could see their reflections in the glass of a lamp. He snorted. "I'll deal with you boys later."

They took their temporary reprieve and bolted.

"Don't be too hard on her, John," Mary finally said before following them.

"So, Dad," Riley said, looking like a kid who was caught with her hand in the cookie jar. "This is some really great weather we're havin', huh?"

"Yeah. At least there's a good chance that when they kick your ass outta the Corps for fraternizing, it probably won't rain on you."

She went pale. "They're gonna court martial me?"

John shook his head. "No, sweetheart. But you got no idea how lucky you are. Both of you." He pinned Mullins with a glare. The boy was handsome, with a charm and swagger that reminded him of Dean. Riley had spent most of her childhood crushing on Dean and he wondered if that was the attraction, or at least the seed of it.

"I know it was stupid, Daddy." He looked at her again. She hadn't called him that in years. There were tears in her eyes. "But Tom's not goin' back and it won't happen again."

"I hope not. A dishonorable discharge will follow you for the rest of your life."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Okay, sweetheart. Give me a minute with Mullins."

She blinked at him wide-eyed. "But…"

"What do you think I'm gonna do? Kill him and bury him in the back yard? Go on, now."

She left after throwing Mullins an apologetic glance. The boy stood stock still, in full military composure. John regarded him for a while, waited for him to start sweating. "I know my wife probably thinks all this is so romantic," he finally said, "but as far as I'm concerned, you're about one step up from pond scum. You dishonored my daughter and disrespected her family."

"Yes sir… But I – I love your daughter."

"Then you got a piss poor way of showin' it."

"I'm retired now, sir. Just finished my last tour. It's not fraternization now."

"Then you shoulda waited 'til you were out. Love doesn't give you an excuse to piss on the rules and jeopardize everyone around you in the process. It doesn't give you license to shit all over your responsibilities. I ain't a huge fan of your judgment, boy."

The boy's eyes flickered toward him before they snapped back to stare straight ahead. He swallowed convulsively. "You're right, sir. What I did was wrong. I never should have put Riley in that position. I disrespected you, your family and your daughter. I'm sorry, sir."

"Words mean nothin', soldier."

The boy's head dipped slightly for a moment and his cheeks turned red. Yeah, the kid was a screw up. But maybe there was hope for him. "Yes, sir. I can't undo what I've done. I plan on marrying your daughter."

"Were you gonna come talk to me before you asked her?"

"No sir."

"Honesty. That's a good start, Marine. You just made your way up to two steps above pond scum. Congratulations."

"Thank you sir. Is it alright if I come to see you tomorrow, sir?"

"You do that, son."

John walked outside to find his family trying to look like they hadn't just been at the windows eaves dropping.

"We told her to tell you," Dean said preemptively.

"Yeah. We warned her," Andrew said with a shrug. "We just came for the free beer."

"And because we had a bet goin' on how long it was gonna take you to figure it out. Sam owes me twenty. I bet him you'd show up at the party. Everyone doubted me… but he was the only one who put money on it. Everyone else owes me other things," he said with an evil grin. John didn't really want to know what he was going to be extracting from his children.

"Yeah, but you lost the bet about whether Dad'd punch 'im," Shauna said.

"Yeah," Dean admitted sheepishly. "I thought the idiot was gonna mouth off at him. I don't think much of his judgment either."

"Dude," Michael said. "You're whoremongering was legendary in the Corps."

"Yeah, but I never screwed with the chain of command. In any sense of the word. Or with any of the enlisted soldiers."

"Whoremongering?" Shauna repeated incredulously. "Really Mike?"

John shook his head and walked away. But he had to admit, the beer had been good. And really, who turns down free beer? Certainly no one with the last name Winchester.

SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN

Riley was waiting for her father when he arrived to open the garage in the morning.

"I actually like the kid," he said before she could launch into her spiel on why Tom was the greatest man on earth. Second greatest, if she counted her father. But since marrying your father was gross in addition to being completely illegal, that left Tom.

Riley frowned at her father. "But you said he was a step up from pond scum. That's not exactly a ringing endorsement, Dad."

"Yeah. He put your career in danger. I'm your father before I'm anything else. Besides, I said he'd worked his way up another step."

"Are you gonna let me marry him or not?"

John snorted softly. "I can stop you?"

She frowned. She hated it when her father was unhappy with her. That was the whole reason she had tried to hide things from him. It had been wishful thinking, but she thought that if she told him a month or two down the line, he would never have to know how close she came to wrecking her career. Almost as bad, she was afraid that he would never give Tom a second chance. "You know what I mean!"

"Do you like this boy?"

"I love him, Dad," she assured him.

"Not what I asked." He held up a hand. "Do you like him? Is he the kind of guy you wouldn't mind hanging out with and havin' around your kids? Do you think you can trust him when things get tough? Is he the kind of guy that does the right thing no matter how hard it is?"

"He's a good man."

"I ain't disputin' that, sweetheart. But bein' a good man don't mean he's got honor. Or that he's dependable."

"He's not a car."

"No. Just the guy you wanna spend the rest o' your life with. Who's gotta love you when you get old and flabby. Who's gonna be the father of your kids. Those are things you gotta think about. Will you love him if he loses all his hair and grows a spare tire? Do you want your kids takin' after him?"

She frowned and bit her lip. She hadn't thought about any of that. "I dunno," she finally said hesitantly.

"Then you need to find out before you marry him," he said gently. "All I want is for you to find a guy you can depend on. Somebody you can trust and who'll love you the way you deserve. Love ain't a feelin', sweetheart. It's the way you live."