John POV:
Day after day is a continuous, never ending cycle of work, sleep, and more work. John hardly ever has time to sit back and enjoy life. He has two jobs that both require heavy lifting and strength to get the job done. He does all of this for his two sons, who he loved dearly. Dean and Sam were to him, miracles, given to him from his wife, who died in a terrible house fire while saving Sam, who was at the time only an infant.
Every day he misses her warm smiles, kind eyes, and soft skin. He misses the aroma of delicious food being made in the kitchen early in the morning, slowly waking the house by filling their scents with apple pie, pancakes, and bacon. He misses the way she wished him a good day at work before he headed off, and he misses her playful energy around the kids.
He missed her. So much.
John knows he cannot find another perfect person like her to share his life with, so he moves through his day like a ghost, alone. At night and in the morning, the bed is cold and unwelcoming, the house dull without her smiles and energy lighting it up. Without her, life was hard and painful.
But no matter how hard life got, he always looked toward the two best gift she could have given. Their sons. Dean and Sam were, in so many ways, like their mother. Dean was stubborn and had Mary's bright, kind green eyes that were always so full of life while Sam was smart and took after Mary's side of the family as far as height and physical description went.
John works day in and day out to keep the roof over their heads and the only breaks that he gets is the few hours after work and the occasional hunting trip with his friends into the peaceful serenity of endless trees and life. The moments John enjoys most are when it's just him, the ground beneath his battered boots, and the hunt of the day prowling the forest, ignorant to John's intentions of soon having it's head mounted on a wall.
Not only was hunting fun and an escape from the hardships life gave him, but when John hunted he was able to sell the trophys to willing buyers. That, in turn, gave him extra money to use to keep Sam and Dean happy. Sometimes he bought ice cream, other times they went to the movie theater, and very rarely they got to go to the bowling alley.
But after this hunting trip, he couldn't afford any of those luxuries because somehow, his wallet was taken right from out of his back pocket.
John was driving home from his hunting trip when he saw that he was running out of gas. He stopped at the nearest gas station and filled the tank. About half way through, a man and his son walked up to his truck. They smiled and greeted him kindly.
"Hey! The name's Don and this is my son Nick. I couldn't help but notice those fine deer heads you got there." Don and Nick stood beside the trunk of the truck and admired the corpse. Nick even climbed onto the wheel to get a better look.
"Thanks." John voice was gravelly from not talking in a few hours so he coughed to clear his throat before continuing. "Yeah I just got back from a hunting trip and I was looking to sell it."
Don nodded understandably. "Right. Do you mind if me and Nick take a look at it?" Nick looked up excitedly at John and though the tank was almost full, nodded his consent.
Nick rounded over next to John and gave him a childish hug around the waist, since that is how tall he could reach. "Thank you, sir!" Nick said appreciatively and let go in favor of admiring the deer again. For the next thirty seconds Nick pointed to parts of the body and asked what they were or what they did until John's tank was full and he would've had to pull out of the slot for the next person's use.
"I appreciate it guys. If you want it I can give it to you for a hundred bucks now of you can give me your number and I can have it stuffed and made how you would like. Of course the price will go up if you chose the later." John said smoothly, a natural buisness man and people person at heart.
"I don't have my truck with me so I guess the last one it is then." Don said as he pulled out a pen and wrote his number and name on a brown napken.
Don handed the napken to John and led Nick away back to their own car. John smiled and tucked the napken in his pocket.
John was ten minutes from home when he finally realized the emptyness in his back pocket. John pulled over to the side of the road in front of a random house and searched his person and car. Furiously, John hit the steering wheel. Soon however an idea formed in his head and in a matter of seconds, he whipped out the number given to him by Don. John dialed the number and waited.
The sound on the other end of the phone was of a young man announcing the name to a pizza place. John lowered is phone, the sound of the pizza man fell silent with a resounding click.
John wanted to scream. How could he have let a kid no older than 10 pick his pocket and manage to steal all of last weeks earnings and his credit card?
Degrading thoughts like those swam in John's head the rest of the way home. When he walked in the front door of his house, he felt no comfort. He would be behind on the bills again now that a few thousand dollars wasn't at his disposal anymore.
John carried his duffle-bag of hunting supplies and bait in the hallway and walked into the kitchen. He pried his jacket off of his large frame and draped it across the back of a kitchen chair. In front of him lay a small but intimidating stack of unpaid bills.
John shuffled through the stack until he found an out of place envelope amongst the stack. John opened it and saw a large sum of money and a note. The envelope fell out of his hands and to the wooden table below.
John felt dizzy with anger at himself. Someone in this household knew that he wasn't able to provide for his family. He felt like a complete and utter failure as a father.
John sat down at the table to read the note that accompanied the money. The note read simply; Hope this helps-Dean.
John examined the rest of the pile for anything else out of the ordinary and found that someone, most likely Dean, opened some of the bills.
Anger boiled under John's skin. Reading the bills, or any mail not addressed to them, were forbidden to touch. It was one of the few rules John set up when he started to notice how he was barely making the deadlines.
John laid his head in his hands. The combination of stress, loneliness, the stealing of his wallet from earlier, and Dean's disobediance drove him to a shaking mess.
And it was at that moment when company decided to present itself. The front door opened and closed with a soft creak. Shuffling could be heard and soon steps were being made to the kitchen area. John froze.
"Dad?" Dean's voice sounded throughout the room, however the fact that the voice was his son's didn't make itself known in John's John could think about was how he let his whole family down. The anger boiled inside of him, waiting to a headache started to form and John grunted in pain.
Dean's figure standing in the doorway to the kitchen caught his eye for a moment. John regained a little bit of himself to remind himself not to take his anger out on Dean. His head was throbbing now and so he leaned it back against his hands which were clasped together tightly.
"Dad? Did I do something wrong or..." Dean's voice reminded him of his own. Gruff, rude, sarcastic, a bit confused and annoyed all at once. John knew he had to defeate his fears and conquer the illusions standing before him. Dean's face was no longer his own, but Johns'.
John stood and turned toward his other self. The other one was the evil within him. He was the one who couldn't pay the bills or keep Mary safe, or the kids happy. The other John was evil and John had to defeate it.
John held up the envelope and said simply, "The bills." The bills were what caused all of this anger right now.
"Yes I did. And I also placed some money in that envelope. That is enough to cover the water and electrical bills." John watched the other him cross his arms in defence. So he did what any sane person would do and ran toward the illusion. They were face to face, so close that John could smell a light cologne coming from the other John. 'Why would the other me wear cologne?'
"You don't think I can provide for this family! Is that it? We are doing fine!" John yelled in defense.
The other John look just as angry. The other John was saying something, something mean and degrading, but that was not important.
"You watch your tongue, or I swear that I will show you your place." John's hand was itching for a fight and if the other John was going to keep this up that might just happen.
The other John glared back defiantly and came even closer. "I dare you." The other hissed.
That sent John to the edge. He lunged at the illusion and slammed him into the wall. All John could think of was his own failures and as he pounded his fists into the illusion, he felt better. He was conquering his own failures. Maybe this way he can do better for his family.
But when he glanced up at the illusion's face, he saw Dean staring back. His eyes were droopy and his mouth hung open in silent wailing. His hands clutched his sides but his attempts at protecting himself from John's meaty hands were futile.
John backed off immediately and he scrambled to the other side of the kitchen. Thoughts swarmed in his head like a mob of locusts. 'Please tell me this was all an illusion. I did not just do that. No I didn't... not me. Not my son.'
The envelope caught his sight and he felt sick. Not wanting to take Dean's money and not wanting to look at the thing that drove him over the edge, John threw it in Dean's general direction. "Take the money and go to your room."
"Bu-" Dean's voice was gravelly and dry sounding and it tore his heart to a million pieces. An army of tears gathered at the corners of John's eyes and, in fear of doing something else that he'll regret, decided it best to have Dean as far away from him as possible. "I said go Dean."
John waited until Dean's retreating steps were no more before letting out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. He concentrated on his breathing willing himself not to cry, but the tension building in his throat and eyes were too much.
John stepped out into the backyard and gasped. His chest strained with the flood of emotion and he fell to his knees on the cold, unforgiving earth below.
For awhile, John sobbed. The guilt, stress, and the anger he felt at himself crippled him.
After about half an hour of drowning in those emotions, he received a text from Bobby, a long time friend and manager of the car shop that Dean works at.
It read, "Going out for a few drinks. I'm paying." John replied with a quick "okay" and sat for a few more minutes trying to dry the tears and clear his throat.
Maybe it would do him some good to go out and clear his head. It's not like he could face Dean after what he did.
John hurried through the house and to his truck. He was looking forward to forgetting.
Dean POV:
His room was dark and quiet. The sun refused to rise above the horizon and shine some light in through his bedroom window. Dean looked over to his alarm clock and saw that the time was 5:00 in the morning. He sat up slowly, minding the throbbing pain all over and leaned against the headboard. Sleep still clouded his mind and he had to take a few minutes to remember why he woke up in the first place. His efforts at at remembering were futile and Dean was about to get ready to go back to sleep when a loud bang sounded from downstairs.
Dean jerked, startled by the sudden noise and winced in pain. As fast as he could manage with his injuries, Dean untangled himself from the sea of blankets and shuffled to the edge of the stairs. At the bottom of the staircase, where the front door stood slammed shut, lay the slouching figure of none other than his dad, passed out on the floor against the door.
Dean stood at the top of the stairs, frozen in shock. The man who has been troubling his mind since yesterday was right there, in front of his face. So... so close. Dean's breathing started to pick up and he, forgetting his pain, turned and ran back to his room.
He didn't bother with shutting the door and sat heavily on the edge of his bed, trying to gain control of his breathing before he went into a panic attack.
After a few moments of sitting and breathing, Dean felt better. He processed the facts of yesterday and today in his mind again and he criticized himself. He is the older brother, he needs to act like it. He needs to be brave and strong. Dean would not allow Sammy, or anyone for that matter, thinking that he was weak. Never.
Dean stood slowly and walked to Sam's room. If John drank all night, then Dean would need Sam's help with getting their Dad off the floor, especially in his condition.
Sam was sleeping soundly with a small smile on his face and Dean took a mental picture of the adorable sight.
"Sam" Dean whispered regretfully, not wanting to wake his little brother. He lightly shook his brother's shoulder lightly. Sam squirmed but remained asleep. "Sammy." Dean tried a little louder. Sam cracked one eye open but failed to see Dean's looming figure above him, and resolved to shutting it in favor of dream land, again.
Dean, getting aggravated now, shoved Sam's shoulder roughly and hissed "Sam!"
Sam jerked to an upright position and looked around for the source of his waking. At finding that it was only Dean, Sam slouched sleepily and rubbed at his crusty eyes. Dean crossed his arms over his chest and popped his hip out dramatically.
"What do you want?" Sam drawled. Dean looked too ridiculous for this early in the morning.
"I need your help." Dean grunted.
As if remembering something important, Sam's eyes widened. He carried his gaze down to Dean's chest in silent questioning. Dean rolled his eyes as he realized what his little brother was thinking. "Not with the bruises, idiot. It's Dad. He just came home and I think he might be sleeping against the front door."
Sam hesitated but resigned to nodding in favor of helping his brother. Dean would've guilt tripped him into doing it anyways.
Sam sluggishly pulled himself out of bed and stretched. After stretching a few muscles and moving around a bit, Sam looked more awake.
The brothers made there way to the staircase with Sam in the lead. Dean took the time where Sammy had his back to him to gather himself. The words 'You can do it. You can do it.' were repeated like a mantra in his head.
The brothers crouched and with a bit of difficulty, lifted John up by the arms and dragged him to the nearest couch. The large man was unceremoniously dropped on the plush cushions, limbs sprawling off the edges of the piece of furniture.
Sam threw a blanket over the man before eyeing Dean warily. Other than being a bit out of breath, Dean seemed fine. Sam walked over to Dean and requested that he pull up his shirt.
"No." Dean said stubbornly, already heading to his room for a few more hours of shut eye. "Why not?" Sam followed.
Dean, turned sharply and hissed, "Because I'm not a little kid. I can take care of myself." With a sense of finality, Dean turned and continued on to his room.
Sam stayed where he was at the bottom of the staircase, watching his grumpy brother stomp off to bed.
Taking one final look at his father to see if he was comfy enough, Sam to headed to bed. Maybe he can get some more sleep also. After all, his and Jess's science project is due and he wants to make a good impression on both her and his teacher.