1989
The kitchen is filled with dazzling sunlight when John steps into the room, using a hand to shade his eyes. Elizabeth is already sitting at the wobbly table beneath the window, sticky fingers switching between waffles and fixing her puzzle.
"Can't you wipe your hands on a napkin before you mess with that puzzle," he grouses. "That's how you get ants." Elizabeth frowns up at him, a smear of syrup along her cheek.
"That's where aunts come from? How do I get uncles? I want another uncle so B isn't lonely in this big ol' house." John has to fight the urge to thump his head against a wall. He's got the hangover to end all hangovers and head trauma wouldn't be conducive to healing.
"Got any coffee, Liza?"
"Uh-huh." She goes back to her puzzle as John shuffles over to the coffee pot, pouring himself a generous amount before joining her at the table. She's got the puzzle nearly complete, a hundred pieces that make a scene of flowers and mice in tutus.
"Did you do this by yourself?" Elizabeth nods, hazel eyes fixed on the piece in her hand. She moves it slowly, rotating it occasionally to try and find its spot. She's a smart little thing, great at pattern recognition. "How long have you been working on this?"
"Dunno."
"Did you sleep last night?"
"Nope."
"Jesus Christ."
"Uncle B says that Jesus isn't real." She lets out a satisfied hum when she finds the right spot, pressing the sticky cardboard into place. "I told that to Christa and she cried for two hours."
"This the same Christa that likes to pull your hair?"
"Yup."
"You should tell her that Jesus isn't white." They share a conspiratorial smile, a rare moment of alliance. He's never been fond of the Mayson girls, they're far too spoiled for his liking, but Elizabeth is starting to grow on him. She's feisty and keeps Bobby on his toes. It's good for the old geezer.
"Her dad yelled at the principal for an hour. Christa was so embarrassed. It was awesome."
"I'm sure it was." They're quiet for the next hour, Elizabeth finishing her waffles with some urging from John and re-starting the puzzle. She's faster at it this time around even when John mixes up the pieces. Bobby has noticed his niece's habits, the daydreaming and the pattern-recognition making him check books on autism out of the library. John doesn't buy into that shit, the kid's just odd.
"Hey, Liza," Dean greets as he shuffles into the kitchen. She doesn't look up from the puzzle, but she grunts a response to show she heard him. Dean doesn't take it personally, just tousles her messy hair and continues to the freezer.
"You ready for some shooting practice today?"
"Bobby said it's too hot out." It's the hottest day of the year so far, but that's no reason to slack off. John's ready to say as much when Bobby himself comes into the room.
"Don't even think of sending those boys outside today, Winchester," he warns. "They'll die of heat stroke and then you'll die from being shot in the ass." Elizabeth's head perks up at that, puzzle forgotten. "No, Elizabeth Michelle, you can't shoot a gun yet." Elizabeth slumps in her seat with a pout.
"Then what do you wanna do with all these kids," John asks. "If they stay cooped up in the house, they'll drive us nuts." Bobby frowns down at his bare toes peeking out beneath his sleep pants.
"We could teach 'em how to knit."
"We could teach the girls how to knit, but what about the boys?"
"Boys need socks just as much as girls do, John." John scowls at the idea of his sons learning something so stupid as knitting. Knitting is what old ladies do when they're put in nursing homes, when their families forget about them until they choke on some tapioca. His boys aren't learning that shit.
"Baseball."
"Not in my house. I've got too many windows."
"Golf?"
"You trust these heathens with golf clubs?"
"What about flossing," Sam asks. He pokes his head around Bobby's legs, rubbing one eye with a clumsy fist. He must have just crawled out of bed, his cowlick more pronounced than it usually is. "Dana's always talking about flossing."
"Dental care," John asks, confused.
"Embroidery," Bobby corrects. "The thread is called floss." Sam grunts, settling at the table beside Elizabeth. They snuggle together on the little bench, a couple of puppies. John will eat his hat if those two don't end up dating at some point. They're too close not to.
"I don't think my boys—"
"Suturing is pretty similar to embroidery."
"Seriously? That's your argument?" Bobby arches his brows and John can feel the three kids staring him down. John rolls his eyes and leans back in the chair, resigned. "Fine, embroidery it is. How hard can it be?"
Embroidery is fucking difficult. John will never admit it aloud, but he's stabbed his fingertips so many times that he could be confused for a diabetic. He grumbles as he tries to get the thread to cooperate. He's been working on a satin stitch for two hours and it just keeps getting twisted up.
"Son of a bitch," he grumbles.
"What's the next stitch, John," Elizabeth asks. She's on the couch between John and Sam, the other two on the floor with Bobby acting as supervisor. John glances down at the fabric stretched taut in the wooden hoop, the practice stitches getting better and better.
"Uh…." John pulls the little booklet over to him, eyes flitting over it until they find the remaining stitch she hasn't mastered. "French knot."
"Like French toast?"
"Exactly like French toast." She nods sagely, setting to work on it. Her first two are clumsy, the floss pulled too tightly and coming through the back of the fabric. She curses and grumbles, but then Sam shows her how he does it and suddenly she's got it down. Meanwhile, John's still trying to get his floss to just sit in a straight line. This is why he goes to Ellen for stitches.
"Not so easy, is it," Dana asks, smirking over at him. Unlike the others, she doesn't need to practice her stitches. She's been embroidering since she was five, a hobby that keeps her fidgeting hands busy. She's got half her pattern filled in, bright green grass with little cows and a UFO.
"Did I ask for a comment from the clown section?"
"Well, you were already talking, so…." She trails off and Bobby chokes on a laugh. John really doesn't like these Mayson girls.
2006
It's been two weeks since their last case, two weeks since they had anything to do, and Dean's going out of his mind. He paces the living room, glaring out at the snowfall. It's not rare this time of year, but it's frustrating because nothing's open.
"Don't you fucking dare," Elizabeth yells from somewhere upstairs. She and Sam have been at each other's throats for two days, constantly fighting with no way to work out their frustrations. They can't go outside to get away from each other because neither of them likes the snow.
"I can do whatever I want!"
"Goddamn giant!"
"If y'all get hurt, I'm not takin' you to the ER," Dean shouts. He goes back to glaring out at the mountains of white bullshit piling up in the yard, Bobby's truck noticeably absent. He'd been smart enough to hightail it before the snow started. He'd called yesterday and laughed when Dean told him about the twins.
"Give me back the remote!"
"No," Sam yells. "It's my turn to watch TV!" There's a loud crash and then a door is slamming open. He turns just in time to watch as Elizabeth and Sam tumble down the staircase. They land in a heap so tangled that Dean can't tell where one of them starts and the other begins. He stares down at them with his hands on his hips, scowling.
"I got the remote," Elizabeth groans. She's pinned beneath Sam, the remote held up victoriously. Sam heaves himself upright with a grimace, cradling his arm against his chest. With him out of the way, Dean can take stock of the both of them. Sam's arm is definitely broken and Elizabeth's shoulder is dislocated.
"Get in the fucking car," Dean orders, pointing at the door. They get to their feet reluctantly, grumbling on their way outside. "Why the hell were you two fighting over the remote? There's more than one TV in this house."
"Only one has cable."
"And I wanted to watch Gilmore Girls," Sam adds. "It was my turn."
"The fuck it was!" Before the argument can escalate again, Dean scoops Elizabeth into his arms and starts for the front door. He arches his brows expectantly when Sam just stands dumbly beside him, nodding at the closed door. "Open the door, Samsquatch."
"Don't tell me what to do—"
"Open the damn door," Dean interrupts. The trio make it to the Impala with no further accidents or arguments, a minor miracle. The little hospital they end up at has seen better days, but it's also seen worse ones and the doctors inside are familiar with Elizabeth and Sam's squabbles over the remote.
The nurse at the registration desk glances up and smiles when she sees the way Dean is dragging the twins inside by the scruff of their necks. Dorothy is a sweet old lady with cat-eye glasses and a cardigan permanently tied around her shoulders.
"Been a while, though you three might have finally done each other in," she quips.
"It was a close call." Dean shoves the twins into the nook beside the desk, glaring at them until they sit down with one plastic chair between them. "Liza's got a dislocated shoulder and I'm pretty sure Sammy's arm is broken."
"Cabin fever?"
"Big time." Dorothy grunts and shakes her head, well aware of the plight of older siblings. She's got a younger sister that used to try and parachute off the roof of the high school whenever the door was left unlocked. Danny Parker is a legend and Dorothy Parker keeps that legend in line with a stern glare and pinched lips.
"What about you, honey? You doing okay?" She gives him a concerned frown along with a clipboard and pen. Dean opens his mouth to tell her he's been just fine, thank you very much, but those bright red lips go pinched and he knows she won't accept a lie.
"I'm okay." Dean shrugs, suddenly on uneven footing. "Been worse."
"Don't I know it." Dean fills out the information quickly without having to stop and think about the answers. He's had the twins' social security numbers memorized since he was eleven. Hell, he's still got Dana's number memorized and he never even needed to use it. Dorothy gives him a kind smile when he hands back the clipboard, grandmotherly and full of love. It strikes him then that this woman actually cares for Dean and his family.
He comes around the corner to find Sam sitting on Elizabeth, the latter sinking her teeth into Sam's back. Dean blinks once, twice, shakes his head. When he turns to look at Dorothy, she's got the clipboard held out again.
"They're already in the hospital, you might as well whack 'em," she reasons.
"This is why you're my favorite." Dean takes the clipboard and smacks Sam over the head with it. Elizabeth snorts out a laugh until he smacks her with it as well. "Sam, find a seat that isn't my girlfriend. Elizabeth, stop biting people." Elizabeth slouches as well as she can, Sam mimicking the position across the alcove. "I feel like I'm dealing with kids."
"Dean, Sam's flipping me off," Elizabeth pouts.
1987
Caleb is starting to question what's left of his sanity as he watches Elizabeth jump off the coffee table and onto John's back. They've been trying to get the kids to bed for the better part of an hour, but they aren't cooperating.
"Guys," Caleb starts, cut off by Sam's war cry. He comes racing down the stairs with a blanket cape around his throat and what looks like lipstick on his cheeks. His shaggy hair flops in his eyes as he jumps over the final step, landing with a firm smack. "Oh no…."
"Freedom," Sam yells, beating his tiny fists against his chest. "Freedom!"
"Freedom," Elizabeth echoes. John winces, nearly bucking her right off him. Elizabeth hangs on tightly, digging her plastic Cinderella heels into his ribs. Caleb would pull his own hair out if he had any.
"Kids, it's time for bed," John tries.
"Don't wanna!" John really does buck her off this time, Elizabeth landing on the couch with a giggle. She scrambles to her feet, jumping on one lumpy cushion that's more spring than padding. Sam hurtles across the coffee table and latches onto Caleb's leg, nearly overturning him.
"Now, damn it, I'm not gonna repeat myself."
"You already have, dummy." Elizabeth keeps jumping until John lunges for her, then she launches herself onto his back again. She's a nimble little thing, must be part monkey or something.
"We can't sleep yet," Sam calls. Caleb grabs him under the armpits and pulls him up onto a hip. This close, he can see the improvised war paint is actually Dana's lip-gloss. "We wanna stay up all night!"
"Little monkeys need their sleep so they can grow up big and strong."
"Daddy barely sleeps and he's strong."
"And big," Elizabeth adds with a condescending pat to John's head. "Look how huge his noggin is!" She's giggling as he tries to dislodge her, cheeks flushed.
"He's got a big head!" They're both giggling now, John finally able to grab the back of Elizabeth's nightgown and pluck her off his back. He cradles her against his chest, less like she's fragile and more like she's a feral cat that'll scratch his eyes out if he lets her go.
"I do not," John snaps. "Do I?"
"I mean, kinda," Caleb shrugs. Headlights flood the living room, bouncing in time with the bumps of the dirt driveway, and then they're gone as an engine cuts off. All four of them have frozen, well-aware that it's nearly two hours past the kids' bedtime.
There's excited chattering outside and then the front door is swinging open to reveal Bobby and the older kids. Dana and Dean don't look surprised that the littles are still awake, but Bobby hits Caleb with a disappointed sigh that nearly bowls him over.
"Wanna explain to me why those two are still awake?"
"Not really," Caleb says.
"They're terrible people," John grumbles. He tosses Elizabeth onto the couch, scowling down at her like she'd personally offended him. "Every time we put them to bed, they jumped right back out again."
"Did you read to them," Dean asks.
"Why the hell would I read to them if I want them to sleep? I should be able to lay them down and walk out."
"That's why they didn't stay in bed. You gotta read to them."
"That's right," Bobby agrees. "If you don't read to them, their little minds will just keep racing." He sits on the couch, Elizabeth curling into his side. "They're about halfway through one of those choose your own adventure books right now. Knocks 'em right out."
"I'll get the book," Dana says. She passes her box of candy to John before running upstairs. John drops onto the coffee table with a groan, knees popping loudly.
"You sound like a Rice Krispies commercial, Daddy," Sam laughs. Caleb sets him down and he wastes no time in flinging himself into Dean's arms. They collapse on Bobby's right, Sam's little feet tucked beneath Elizabeth's legs. John glowers at him, but there's a faint twitch to his lips that betrays amusement.
"I don't remember askin'." Dana comes back empty-handed, frowning. "Where's the book?"
"Couldn't find it," she shrugs. She plants herself on the arm of the couch, narrowing her eyes at Dean. "Did you hide it?" Dean's eyes go wide and his mouth drops open at the accusation, Caleb able to read the innocence stamped on the kid's forehead.
"Of course he didn't. Just get another book for them."
"No," the littles whine. It's always weird to hear them talk in unison like that, like a pair of twins. John's mouth twitches, but he keeps quiet.
"Can't we just get told a story," Sam begs. He turns those big brown eyes on Caleb and the man melts a little. He's always had a soft spot for kids, these four in particular, and he knows he doesn't stand a chance. "Just one story, Caleb? So we don't hav'ta start a new book?"
"Puh-lease," Elizabeth adds. "Pleeease, Caleb?" He folds figuratively and literally, bending in half until his forehead touches his knees. When he straightens again, the littles have settled in with matching smiles and the adults are looking at him with sympathy.
Caleb thinks for a moment, dredging up a story his father had told him when he'd been small. He starts slowly before getting into a rhythm, the words rolling off his tongue. The littles keep their eyes glued to him as he talks, Sam scooting tighter against Dean's side.
"... And they shoved the evil witch into her own oven so she could never hurt another kid," he finishes with a broad smile. The littles aren't smiling, though. They're looking at him like he pushed Bobby in front of a train or kicked a puppy instead of telling them a cute story. "What?"
"Are you serious right now," Bobby demands. "What the hell is wrong with you? They're five, Caleb. They don't need to know about cannibals yet." Caleb and John share a confused look, turning their gazes back to Bobby and the huddled children. Dean is just as upset as Bobby, but Dana looks positively delighted by her little sister's newly unlocked fear.
"Oops…."
2006
The fighting doesn't get any better once they're actually in a room, Elizabeth and Sam forced to share a bed. The paper crinkles and rips with every little movement, strips of it tearing free every time one of them lunges for the other.
"Pull her hair one more time and you're grounded for a month," Dean snaps. He's in the single chair, leg jiggling impatiently. He can set Elizabeth's shoulder himself, but it serves her right to have a stranger do it. The pair are still pouting when the doctor comes in with a bright smile.
"How'd we manage to get hurt this time, Mayson," he asks.
"Fell down the stairs fighting for the remote," she answers with a bright smile. "I won."
"You dislocated your shoulder."
"Still won." Luke Hayes is a handsome man with close-cropped hair and a dark complexion. He's always reminded Dean of Taye Diggs. "How's your nephew enjoying the snow?"
"Oh, he's loving it. It's the first time he's really gotten a chance to enjoy it." Luke digs his phone out and holds it up for the hunters to see; the picture is blurry, but that's obviously an adorable three year old in a puffer coat trying to throw himself into a snowbank.
"He's so cute!"
"I know." Luke beams at them as he pockets his phone again. "Now, let's get you fixed up since you'll be the easiest." Elizabeth's cheeks lose their color, but she gets into position and Sam's quick to put a steadying hand on her leg. Luke makes quick work of resetting her shoulder, neatly side-stepping so that Dean can hold the trash can up in case Elizabeth tosses her cookies.
"'M a'kay." The words are slurred, but she's doing a wonderful job of sitting upright. She's never handled dislocations well, always passing out or throwing up. Right on cue, her eyes roll up and Luke gently lowers her to the bed before she can fall off of it.
"Never gets easier for her, does it?"
"Nope," Sam says. He pulls his phone out to snap a picture of her, all open-mouthed and drooling. It'll be decent blackmail material when they get home and the remote fight starts up again.
"Your turn, Winchester."
Three hours later, the twins are slumped on the couch and staring blankly at the TV. The power went out while they were at the hospital and now none of them get to watch their shows. Dean doesn't mind it, he's never been an avid TV person unless Doctor Sexy is involved.
"Why don't y'all take a nap," he suggests. Elizabeth blinks slowly, the pain meds she'd been given still kicking her ass. It's a miracle she's stayed awake this long considering she's a lightweight. Sam wiggles on the couch until he's laying down, then he's tugging Elizabeth until she's curled up back-to-chest.
"Tell us a story," Sam murmurs. It's almost too quiet for Dean to pick up and Sam still has to repeat himself before Dean's sure he heard him correctly. Sam hasn't asked for a bedtime story since he was ten. Watching him like this, soft and snuggled, makes Dean melt. Dean loves these two so much, he'd die for them, so how could he deny something so simple? He smirks a little and launches into a familiar tale.
"Hard by a great forest dwelt a poor woodcutter with his wife and his two children. The boy was called Hansel and the girl Gretel…."
A gentle breeze from Hushabye Mountain/Softly blows o'er lullaby bay/It fills the sails of boats that are waiting/Waiting to sail your worries away/It isn't far to Hushabye Mountain/And your boat waits down by the quay