Supernatural gen ficlet - Not in Kansas Anymore
Okay, on the advice of lonelybrit I decided to write some Supernatural Daddy angst. The bunnies were screaming at me, and I needed to get this down, so I can get on with my other fics. I've only seen up to "Something Wicked", and I'm unspoiled, so this could be jossed/kripked in later eps.
TITLE: Not in Kansas Anymore
RATING: PG13
NOTES: 500 words. John thinks about the life he might have had. Set immediately after the flashback sequence in Something Wicked. Dean's line "But he looked at me different" was the starting point for this. Title from and allusions to The Wizard of Oz.
That was the night John stopped lying to himself.
Up till then it was easy.
When Dean was seven, he’d teach him to shoot, a 20 gauge Winchester that would knock him onto his ass first time he fired it. But only the first time. He’d pick it up quick, handling the recoil with a fierce determination to get it right.
John would watch him with poorly hidden pride, and would pat him on his shoulder, where the shotgun had kicked him hard enough to bruise. Dean would grin up at him eagerly, his new front teeth still too big in his mouth.
When Dean was eight, John would sit him down, man to man at their kitchen table, and they’d have a conversation about Sammy’s first day at school.
“You watch out for your little brother, you got that?” Serious voice, no messing around on this.
“Yes, sir.” Dean would answer solemnly, looking up into his father’s face for approval.
“That’s my man.” John would rest his hand on his son’s shoulder, and Dean would lift his chin, and John would think that his heart might burst with pride.
When Dean was nine, John would get a call to come into school. He’d see Dean slouched on a low bench outside the principal’s office, the beginning of a bruise under his right eye. He’d sit up straight when John walked in, and stay like that, back rigid, while the principal talked about fists and fighting and unacceptable behaviour.
John would nod gravely and promise to take care of it. He would take him home, and question him about the fight, and Dean would stay sullenly silent. And in the end, John would put him over his knee, then put him up to bed.
And when Mary brought Sammy home from school, he’d be full of a tale of bullies and lunch money and a superhero wearing his brother’s bruises. And John would go to Dean’s room, and settle a guilty hand on his sleeping son’s shoulder, and silently ask his forgiveness.
But when Dean was ten -
When Dean was ten, John was gone for three days hunting the wicked witch, and it had almost taken Sammy when Dean had left him alone. John had only just managed to save them.
He glanced in the rear view mirror. Sammy was already asleep again, curled against the door, his feet pressed into Dean’s leg. Dean was sitting straight, his face paler than John had ever seen it. Hands fisted on his thighs, tensed with guilt and shame.
He caught Dean’s eyes in the mirror, and the dumb plea for forgiveness there put an ache in his chest that he couldn’t allow himself to acknowledge. He looked away, abruptly, his own guilt unbearable.
For John knew then that this was never how it would have been. He should never have left them - Mary would never -
And that was the night he stopped lying to himself.
He was not in Kansas anymore.
TITLE: Not in Kansas Anymore
RATING: PG13
NOTES: 500 words. John thinks about the life he might have had. Set immediately after the flashback sequence in Something Wicked. Dean's line "But he looked at me different" was the starting point for this. Title from and allusions to The Wizard of Oz.
That was the night John stopped lying to himself.
Up till then it was easy.
When Dean was seven, he’d teach him to shoot, a 20 gauge Winchester that would knock him onto his ass first time he fired it. But only the first time. He’d pick it up quick, handling the recoil with a fierce determination to get it right.
John would watch him with poorly hidden pride, and would pat him on his shoulder, where the shotgun had kicked him hard enough to bruise. Dean would grin up at him eagerly, his new front teeth still too big in his mouth.
When Dean was eight, John would sit him down, man to man at their kitchen table, and they’d have a conversation about Sammy’s first day at school.
“You watch out for your little brother, you got that?” Serious voice, no messing around on this.
“Yes, sir.” Dean would answer solemnly, looking up into his father’s face for approval.
“That’s my man.” John would rest his hand on his son’s shoulder, and Dean would lift his chin, and John would think that his heart might burst with pride.
When Dean was nine, John would get a call to come into school. He’d see Dean slouched on a low bench outside the principal’s office, the beginning of a bruise under his right eye. He’d sit up straight when John walked in, and stay like that, back rigid, while the principal talked about fists and fighting and unacceptable behaviour.
John would nod gravely and promise to take care of it. He would take him home, and question him about the fight, and Dean would stay sullenly silent. And in the end, John would put him over his knee, then put him up to bed.
And when Mary brought Sammy home from school, he’d be full of a tale of bullies and lunch money and a superhero wearing his brother’s bruises. And John would go to Dean’s room, and settle a guilty hand on his sleeping son’s shoulder, and silently ask his forgiveness.
But when Dean was ten -
When Dean was ten, John was gone for three days hunting the wicked witch, and it had almost taken Sammy when Dean had left him alone. John had only just managed to save them.
He glanced in the rear view mirror. Sammy was already asleep again, curled against the door, his feet pressed into Dean’s leg. Dean was sitting straight, his face paler than John had ever seen it. Hands fisted on his thighs, tensed with guilt and shame.
He caught Dean’s eyes in the mirror, and the dumb plea for forgiveness there put an ache in his chest that he couldn’t allow himself to acknowledge. He looked away, abruptly, his own guilt unbearable.
For John knew then that this was never how it would have been. He should never have left them - Mary would never -
And that was the night he stopped lying to himself.
He was not in Kansas anymore.