Wofl Fic - [SPN] John Drabbles
Recently in my personal journal wofl_iron, I took drabble requests and the theme of the night seemed to be Johncentric so, I bring to you, four drabbles involving John. Ratings range from PG to hard R. Put in order in which they happened, though they are unrelated to each other.
Title: An Almost Tragedy
Author: wofl_iron
Rating: PG
Pairing/Characters: John, Mary
Word Count: 289
Summary: The first time John meets Mary.
Notes: Requested by moby_dicks_bong. Dedicated to her. <333
It's fate, John decides; can't possibly be anything else. Because never before in his life has his heart beat so wildly, adrenaline screaming in his veins. And sure, it might be the fact that he just came two feet away from being hit by a fucking car, but he doesn't think so.
He's staring through the windshield and her eyes are wide and wild, frightened and shaken and then she's scrambling out from behind the wheel and rushing over to him, babbling, oh my god are you ok? I'm so so sorry. I should have been paying more attention.
It's fine, he tells her, smiling, his heart in his throat, electricity in his spine. Her hair is golden and curly, down past her shoulders. She's riveting. Talking still, a mile a minute, and John wonders what she'd look like if she smiled.
I'm fine he repeats when he can get a word in edgewise, flashing her a grin that's gotten him a lot of action in the past. That your car?
Huh? She asks, confused, still incredulous that she hadn't flattened him like a pancake in the street. She glances over her shoulder at the sleek, black car that sits, still idling, in the middle of the road. Yeah. It is. Do you need a ride somewhere?
Back to your place? He asks, jokingly. She relaxes enough to finally smile, even laugh a little. It's like an epiphany. John knows, right there, in that moment, that he will marry this girl someday. He holds out his hand for her to shake. I'm John Winchester, he tells her.
Her grips is firm as she slips her hand into his, smiling shyly, but looking him square in the eye. It's nice to meet you, John. I'm Mary.
Title: Dog Problems
Author: wofl_iron
Rating: PG-13 (for language)
Pairing/Characters: Gen. Bobby, Sam, Dean, John
Word Count: 574
Summary: Sam and John are alpha males fighting over Dean.
Notes: Prompted by angstpuppy. So This is written for her.
Bobby's had dogs for more than twenty years now; most of them more wild than tame. Feral things, they prowl his junkyard like wolves, creating their own society, building a hierarchy that's taught Bobby a lot of things - about both dogs and people. Really, in the most essential of ways, they aren't so different. People just like to pretend otherwise.
He watches the Winchester boys grow up as well, wandering the junkyard with the dogs, playing, training, working. He sees the way Sam balks at the family business, protests the hunt, and knows, even now, that there will be trouble one day. There's a dark storm brewing; Sam is an ill wind where his father is concerned. John might be top dog now, but there will always be a day where a new generation rises and takes control.
With the dogs, it's usually a fight to the death. No mercy; just teeth and claws and primal instinct. Come out on top. Eat or be eaten. Survival of the fittest. Bobby's watched one of his rotties tear his old man's face apart, just for daring to sniff around his food bowl. Here, amongst the glittering heaps of scrap metal, dog eat dog becomes something literal and fierce. It's disturbingly poetic, in a way.
And Sam? He's getting bigger, now; brighter. Every time they show up on Bobby's porch, he's a little bit edgier, a little more defiant. He's always pushing the boundaries, keeping John on his toes. He can see the older man lunging at the end of his rope, Sam dancing just out of his reach. It's obvious, even now, that Sam's meant to be an alpha some day. He's a born leader. He's preparing for it even now; challenging his father at every bend.
Sam marches steadily towards eighteen and independence and no chain in the world will be strong enough to hold him then. Except maybe one. And that one? Is the same chain John's tied to.
Both straining at opposite ends, pulling bullheadedly, neither sure when the chain will break, or who'll be holding the bigger half when it finally does, but Bobby can see that the final push and shove, out and out battle for dominance won't be pretty.
And it won't be fair. Because Dean is the chain holding them together, and he's going to be torn right in half; broken, no matter who wins.
God must have a twisted sense of humor, Bobby thinks, to throw such a dangerous mix of personalities into one family, and then shove them into a dynamic that can only even exasperate the situation. It's almost painful to watch, to be able to see the thread that will someday unravel the entire damn sweater and be able to do nothing about it. Because Winchesters, being Winchesters, look after their own and even friends' noses aren't welcome in that business.
Bobby keeps quiet and goes about his business. He feeds his dogs, feeds his friends, and hopes that when the fallout hits, the Winchesters are nowhere near his junkyard. It's not that he doesn't care, or doesn't want to help. But he's fairly certain there's going to be a lot of pieces too small to be picked back up, and he doubts he'd be allowed to try anyways.
His dogs govern themselves, out there in the scrapyard wasteland. Bobby knows by now, not to interfere when he hears barking, lest he be bitten. The Winchesters, he decides, are very much the same.
Title: Penance
Author: wofl_iron
Rating: Hard R
Pairing/Characters: John/Dean, Sam
Word Count: 417
Summary: Dean is feeling guilty and John realizes how fucked up he is.
Notes: ohmygodpleasedon'tkillmeforthis O_O I feel like I should be so ashamed for this, but I swear it's all moss_gordon's fault. Punch her not me. Anyways, spanking, hints of D/s relationship, daddy!kink. Oh my. *hangs head in shame*
John's not sure when things went so wrong, but he knows he's fucked up irreparably when Dean hands him the belt.
It's just the two of them. Sam's still at the hospital and after three days, the doctor finally kicked them out, informing them they wouldn't be allowed back until visiting hours the next day, telling them quietly that it's for their own good. They should take care of themselves and let the hospital take care of Sam.
With great reluctance, they head back to the motel for much needed showers and sleep.
And when John steps out of the bathroom, clean, feeling refreshed, he finds Dean, head hung, belt in hand, completely and utterly naked.
"I screwed up, Dad," Dean says, voice wavering with tears he'll never shed and unfathomable guilt. "I let Sammy get hurt."
"Dean...what're you--" John trails off when Dean looks up, catching his eye for the first time, and John is startled by everything he sees there. He can't even begin to discern what emotions have been stirred into that cocktail. He tries a new tactic. Anything to stop himself from looking at the pale expanse of Dean's bared skin. "It wasn't your fault, Dean."
God, help him. Look away. Look away.
He can't.
Dean snarls in response, stepping nearer and shaking the belt in John's face. "I shouldn't have let him go alone. You know it just as well as I do."
John has always taught his sons not to lie, and he'd be a hypocrite if he didn't adhere to the same rules. Sam's only sixteen, has some learning about hunting to do yet. Truth is, he shouldn't have gone up against that griffin on his own. John shudders as he remembers its ear-piercing shriek. God, there had been so much blood.
And here, Dean is asking for punishment. Even more depraved, he can see Dean is hard; his cock points up, angry and red and dribbling from the tip. Shit.
"I deserve to be punished, Sir," Dean says, hanging his head again, offering the belt to John. And fuck if John doesn't feel his pants becoming uncomfortably tight. Oh hell. He's fucked up and sick and every other damning name he can think of for himself, but none of it stops him from taking the belt from Dean's hands. Swallowing hard, he watches silently as Dean bends himself over the end of one of the beds, presenting his father with his bare ass.
John moves into place behind his son and raises his arm high, hating himself so very very much.
Title: Tigres de Cirque
Author: wofl_iron
Rating: PG-13 (for language)
Pairing/Characters: Sam/Dean, John, a bottle of tequila
Word Count: 363
Summary: John finds out.
Notes: For roseganymede, who requested Sam/Dean from John's POV. Angst ho. Thanks to moby_dicks_bong for translation help with the title.
He hasn't prayed in years; hasn't cried in longer. Tonight, he does both. It could be blamed on too much tequila sloshing in his stomach, and too many thoughts churning in his head, but the real reason is the guilt wrapping tight around his heart, squeezing until he's sure it'll burst.
John Winchester is a walking contradiction; slays evil with one hand and nurtures depravity with the other. Like a fucking flower garden, he's watched them grow, shooting up and twining together. They blossom into something terrible and twisted; black where there should be red or yellow. Thorns everywhere.
He thinks of circus tigers; isolated and mean and fiercely loyal. It's cruel to keep them, watch them pacing in their cages. But even crueler to set them free. They would die on their own, wouldn't know what to do, how to survive. God, help him, he has crippled his sons. They are black, black, and broken. Sins and secrets and what is a father to do, when he learns that his boys have transgressed against nature and God.
He doesn't blame them; can't blame them. He only has himself for that, can see the three digits turned right back into his own face when he points his finger in blame. His hands shake as he lifts the bottle to his lips, tries to drink away a realization he wishes he'd never had.
He finds solitude in his truck; slumps against the steering wheel and prays. Oh Mary, forgive me, I have ruined them. God, have mercy. Make this right. And the tears come, unbidden, unwelcome, and he cries for his tattered sons, souls stained and marred and unfixable. His own has been sitting in the gutter for years, and he's dragged them down, down. He's created monsters that hide behind closed doors, between sheets.
John thinks of Sammy, so enamored by his older brother, who has been his entire world for far too many years. Of Dean, who could rival a mother bear, so ferociously protective he is of Sam. How could anyone else even begin to get close? It shouldn't be a surprise. Deep down, it isn't, really.
God hasn't listened to John for a very long time.
Title: An Almost Tragedy
Author: wofl_iron
Rating: PG
Pairing/Characters: John, Mary
Word Count: 289
Summary: The first time John meets Mary.
Notes: Requested by moby_dicks_bong. Dedicated to her. <333
It's fate, John decides; can't possibly be anything else. Because never before in his life has his heart beat so wildly, adrenaline screaming in his veins. And sure, it might be the fact that he just came two feet away from being hit by a fucking car, but he doesn't think so.
He's staring through the windshield and her eyes are wide and wild, frightened and shaken and then she's scrambling out from behind the wheel and rushing over to him, babbling, oh my god are you ok? I'm so so sorry. I should have been paying more attention.
It's fine, he tells her, smiling, his heart in his throat, electricity in his spine. Her hair is golden and curly, down past her shoulders. She's riveting. Talking still, a mile a minute, and John wonders what she'd look like if she smiled.
I'm fine he repeats when he can get a word in edgewise, flashing her a grin that's gotten him a lot of action in the past. That your car?
Huh? She asks, confused, still incredulous that she hadn't flattened him like a pancake in the street. She glances over her shoulder at the sleek, black car that sits, still idling, in the middle of the road. Yeah. It is. Do you need a ride somewhere?
Back to your place? He asks, jokingly. She relaxes enough to finally smile, even laugh a little. It's like an epiphany. John knows, right there, in that moment, that he will marry this girl someday. He holds out his hand for her to shake. I'm John Winchester, he tells her.
Her grips is firm as she slips her hand into his, smiling shyly, but looking him square in the eye. It's nice to meet you, John. I'm Mary.
Title: Dog Problems
Author: wofl_iron
Rating: PG-13 (for language)
Pairing/Characters: Gen. Bobby, Sam, Dean, John
Word Count: 574
Summary: Sam and John are alpha males fighting over Dean.
Notes: Prompted by angstpuppy. So This is written for her.
Bobby's had dogs for more than twenty years now; most of them more wild than tame. Feral things, they prowl his junkyard like wolves, creating their own society, building a hierarchy that's taught Bobby a lot of things - about both dogs and people. Really, in the most essential of ways, they aren't so different. People just like to pretend otherwise.
He watches the Winchester boys grow up as well, wandering the junkyard with the dogs, playing, training, working. He sees the way Sam balks at the family business, protests the hunt, and knows, even now, that there will be trouble one day. There's a dark storm brewing; Sam is an ill wind where his father is concerned. John might be top dog now, but there will always be a day where a new generation rises and takes control.
With the dogs, it's usually a fight to the death. No mercy; just teeth and claws and primal instinct. Come out on top. Eat or be eaten. Survival of the fittest. Bobby's watched one of his rotties tear his old man's face apart, just for daring to sniff around his food bowl. Here, amongst the glittering heaps of scrap metal, dog eat dog becomes something literal and fierce. It's disturbingly poetic, in a way.
And Sam? He's getting bigger, now; brighter. Every time they show up on Bobby's porch, he's a little bit edgier, a little more defiant. He's always pushing the boundaries, keeping John on his toes. He can see the older man lunging at the end of his rope, Sam dancing just out of his reach. It's obvious, even now, that Sam's meant to be an alpha some day. He's a born leader. He's preparing for it even now; challenging his father at every bend.
Sam marches steadily towards eighteen and independence and no chain in the world will be strong enough to hold him then. Except maybe one. And that one? Is the same chain John's tied to.
Both straining at opposite ends, pulling bullheadedly, neither sure when the chain will break, or who'll be holding the bigger half when it finally does, but Bobby can see that the final push and shove, out and out battle for dominance won't be pretty.
And it won't be fair. Because Dean is the chain holding them together, and he's going to be torn right in half; broken, no matter who wins.
God must have a twisted sense of humor, Bobby thinks, to throw such a dangerous mix of personalities into one family, and then shove them into a dynamic that can only even exasperate the situation. It's almost painful to watch, to be able to see the thread that will someday unravel the entire damn sweater and be able to do nothing about it. Because Winchesters, being Winchesters, look after their own and even friends' noses aren't welcome in that business.
Bobby keeps quiet and goes about his business. He feeds his dogs, feeds his friends, and hopes that when the fallout hits, the Winchesters are nowhere near his junkyard. It's not that he doesn't care, or doesn't want to help. But he's fairly certain there's going to be a lot of pieces too small to be picked back up, and he doubts he'd be allowed to try anyways.
His dogs govern themselves, out there in the scrapyard wasteland. Bobby knows by now, not to interfere when he hears barking, lest he be bitten. The Winchesters, he decides, are very much the same.
Title: Penance
Author: wofl_iron
Rating: Hard R
Pairing/Characters: John/Dean, Sam
Word Count: 417
Summary: Dean is feeling guilty and John realizes how fucked up he is.
Notes: ohmygodpleasedon'tkillmeforthis O_O I feel like I should be so ashamed for this, but I swear it's all moss_gordon's fault. Punch her not me. Anyways, spanking, hints of D/s relationship, daddy!kink. Oh my. *hangs head in shame*
John's not sure when things went so wrong, but he knows he's fucked up irreparably when Dean hands him the belt.
It's just the two of them. Sam's still at the hospital and after three days, the doctor finally kicked them out, informing them they wouldn't be allowed back until visiting hours the next day, telling them quietly that it's for their own good. They should take care of themselves and let the hospital take care of Sam.
With great reluctance, they head back to the motel for much needed showers and sleep.
And when John steps out of the bathroom, clean, feeling refreshed, he finds Dean, head hung, belt in hand, completely and utterly naked.
"I screwed up, Dad," Dean says, voice wavering with tears he'll never shed and unfathomable guilt. "I let Sammy get hurt."
"Dean...what're you--" John trails off when Dean looks up, catching his eye for the first time, and John is startled by everything he sees there. He can't even begin to discern what emotions have been stirred into that cocktail. He tries a new tactic. Anything to stop himself from looking at the pale expanse of Dean's bared skin. "It wasn't your fault, Dean."
God, help him. Look away. Look away.
He can't.
Dean snarls in response, stepping nearer and shaking the belt in John's face. "I shouldn't have let him go alone. You know it just as well as I do."
John has always taught his sons not to lie, and he'd be a hypocrite if he didn't adhere to the same rules. Sam's only sixteen, has some learning about hunting to do yet. Truth is, he shouldn't have gone up against that griffin on his own. John shudders as he remembers its ear-piercing shriek. God, there had been so much blood.
And here, Dean is asking for punishment. Even more depraved, he can see Dean is hard; his cock points up, angry and red and dribbling from the tip. Shit.
"I deserve to be punished, Sir," Dean says, hanging his head again, offering the belt to John. And fuck if John doesn't feel his pants becoming uncomfortably tight. Oh hell. He's fucked up and sick and every other damning name he can think of for himself, but none of it stops him from taking the belt from Dean's hands. Swallowing hard, he watches silently as Dean bends himself over the end of one of the beds, presenting his father with his bare ass.
John moves into place behind his son and raises his arm high, hating himself so very very much.
Title: Tigres de Cirque
Author: wofl_iron
Rating: PG-13 (for language)
Pairing/Characters: Sam/Dean, John, a bottle of tequila
Word Count: 363
Summary: John finds out.
Notes: For roseganymede, who requested Sam/Dean from John's POV. Angst ho. Thanks to moby_dicks_bong for translation help with the title.
He hasn't prayed in years; hasn't cried in longer. Tonight, he does both. It could be blamed on too much tequila sloshing in his stomach, and too many thoughts churning in his head, but the real reason is the guilt wrapping tight around his heart, squeezing until he's sure it'll burst.
John Winchester is a walking contradiction; slays evil with one hand and nurtures depravity with the other. Like a fucking flower garden, he's watched them grow, shooting up and twining together. They blossom into something terrible and twisted; black where there should be red or yellow. Thorns everywhere.
He thinks of circus tigers; isolated and mean and fiercely loyal. It's cruel to keep them, watch them pacing in their cages. But even crueler to set them free. They would die on their own, wouldn't know what to do, how to survive. God, help him, he has crippled his sons. They are black, black, and broken. Sins and secrets and what is a father to do, when he learns that his boys have transgressed against nature and God.
He doesn't blame them; can't blame them. He only has himself for that, can see the three digits turned right back into his own face when he points his finger in blame. His hands shake as he lifts the bottle to his lips, tries to drink away a realization he wishes he'd never had.
He finds solitude in his truck; slumps against the steering wheel and prays. Oh Mary, forgive me, I have ruined them. God, have mercy. Make this right. And the tears come, unbidden, unwelcome, and he cries for his tattered sons, souls stained and marred and unfixable. His own has been sitting in the gutter for years, and he's dragged them down, down. He's created monsters that hide behind closed doors, between sheets.
John thinks of Sammy, so enamored by his older brother, who has been his entire world for far too many years. Of Dean, who could rival a mother bear, so ferociously protective he is of Sam. How could anyone else even begin to get close? It shouldn't be a surprise. Deep down, it isn't, really.
God hasn't listened to John for a very long time.