Supernatural - Post Devil's Trap ficlet.
I've now seen the last four episodes of Supernatural - and if I was sucked in before, then I'm positively drowning in angst now. I keep rewatching and finding new little nuances to cry over.
Now that I'm able to read post finale fic, I thought I'd better write one. It was inspired by a wonderful video by rhianne Perfect, which focuses on Dean and John's relationship, and Dean's perception of his father's opinion of him.
And then I got chatting with lonelybrit. Who says she isn't going to be sucked in by the angst. I have to prove her wrong, because she needs to be writing in this fandom. She enables me. *g*
TITLE: Don't Look Back
RATING: PG13
CHARACTERS: Dean & John Winchester. Gen.
SPOILERS: Season 1 through Devil's Trap
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, but that's good. I hurt them too much.
NOTES: 700 words. John POV immediately after Devil's Trap. This is not how I want it to be, you understand. This is just the result of wallowing in too much daddy angst. Italicized quotes from the pilot episode.
“Sam? You okay?” There’s a quiet urgency in Dean’s voice, but he doesn’t sound hurt. Not like he’s been bled out from the inside. Not like he’s been crushed and slammed into twisted metal and breaking glass.
He’s a good boy. Watching out for Sammy. Like he always does. John shifts in the passenger seat, can’t feel the bullet in his leg at all now.
“Dean?” His own voice sounds low; he feels something in his chest that’s not right, like the air’s breaking in bubbles when he breathes.
“Dad?” Dean leans forward, and John thinks he should feel his son’s breath on his cheek, but doesn’t. “Is Sam okay?”
He wants to lie; wants to keep them both with him, but he knows it’s time to let go. Finally. He reaches over and presses his palm to Sam’s chest, and tries not to break at the stillness there.
“You did good, Dean.” It hurts him, worse than the bite of hot metal through his thigh, worse than the glass shards that suck the air from his chest. “You always kept him safe.”
“It’s my job.” Dean doesn’t sound bitter, he never does. “Why I’m here, right?”
John doesn’t answer for a moment. Can’t. He sees Dean’s hand touch his shoulder, but it’s weightless.
“How - how long have you known?” John closes his eyes, sees flames and Mary gone in an instant; sees the baby on the grass out front. No sign of his firstborn.
Take your brother outside as fast as you can. Don’t look back. Now Dean, go!
Dean smiles, touches the necklace lightly. “I remember, you said it was to keep me safe.”
The lie comes back to him now, haunting him the way he never wished for.
“I wasn’t sure till now.” Dean’s head is close to his own, and John remembers scooping him into an easy embrace, the warmth of his son’s little arms about his neck as he carried him to bed. The tickle of Dean’s breath against his collar bone.
“We fought this thing a while back in Richardson, a tulpa. There were these symbols.” There’s a soft chuckle in Dean’s voice, and John hears Mary’s laugh in it. “Tibetan. We checked them out.”
There a part of his heart that swells with pride, even as it breaks. “You recognized the amulet?”
“It was something Sam said.” Dean says it fondly, his fingers still clasped around his necklace. “He said it makes you wonder how many of these things existed just because people believed in them.” The smile now is the one he kept only for Sam. “Don’t think he figured it out, though.” He grins broader. “Though you can never tell with Sammy.”
John nods, tries to answer Dean’s smile with one of his own. He almost manages it. “No, son, I never could.”
“I died in the fire, then?” Dean says it in that matter-of-fact way, no hint of the resentment that should be there.
“You went back in.” It’s been so long he’s almost forgotten. Spent twenty-two years needing to forget, needing to believe he saved them both, needing Dean too much to let him go. “You went back for your mom and me when you got Sammy out.”
“Figured that was it.” There’s nothing but gentle understanding in Dean’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Dad.”
The apology eats into his heart, just a little more. “For what, son?”
“I didn’t do what you told me.”
Don’t look back. Now, Dean. Go.
And John suddenly sees all his hopes and fears and dreams of the perfect son he needed embodied in this man; surpassed by him. He wonders how he never saw it before.
“It’s time for you to go now, son.” John reaches up and closes his hand around the back of Dean’s neck, unhooks the pendant. Keeps his hand on the nape of his neck, pulling Dean close, so close he can almost feel him.
“You watch out for Sammy, you got that?” He slides the amulet off the necklace, holds it for a moment, wonders if they’ll see Mary there.
Don’t look back.
Dean smiles before he fades, and this time the smile is just for John.
“Yes, sir."
Now that I'm able to read post finale fic, I thought I'd better write one. It was inspired by a wonderful video by rhianne Perfect, which focuses on Dean and John's relationship, and Dean's perception of his father's opinion of him.
And then I got chatting with lonelybrit. Who says she isn't going to be sucked in by the angst. I have to prove her wrong, because she needs to be writing in this fandom. She enables me. *g*
TITLE: Don't Look Back
RATING: PG13
CHARACTERS: Dean & John Winchester. Gen.
SPOILERS: Season 1 through Devil's Trap
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, but that's good. I hurt them too much.
NOTES: 700 words. John POV immediately after Devil's Trap. This is not how I want it to be, you understand. This is just the result of wallowing in too much daddy angst. Italicized quotes from the pilot episode.
“Sam? You okay?” There’s a quiet urgency in Dean’s voice, but he doesn’t sound hurt. Not like he’s been bled out from the inside. Not like he’s been crushed and slammed into twisted metal and breaking glass.
He’s a good boy. Watching out for Sammy. Like he always does. John shifts in the passenger seat, can’t feel the bullet in his leg at all now.
“Dean?” His own voice sounds low; he feels something in his chest that’s not right, like the air’s breaking in bubbles when he breathes.
“Dad?” Dean leans forward, and John thinks he should feel his son’s breath on his cheek, but doesn’t. “Is Sam okay?”
He wants to lie; wants to keep them both with him, but he knows it’s time to let go. Finally. He reaches over and presses his palm to Sam’s chest, and tries not to break at the stillness there.
“You did good, Dean.” It hurts him, worse than the bite of hot metal through his thigh, worse than the glass shards that suck the air from his chest. “You always kept him safe.”
“It’s my job.” Dean doesn’t sound bitter, he never does. “Why I’m here, right?”
John doesn’t answer for a moment. Can’t. He sees Dean’s hand touch his shoulder, but it’s weightless.
“How - how long have you known?” John closes his eyes, sees flames and Mary gone in an instant; sees the baby on the grass out front. No sign of his firstborn.
Take your brother outside as fast as you can. Don’t look back. Now Dean, go!
Dean smiles, touches the necklace lightly. “I remember, you said it was to keep me safe.”
The lie comes back to him now, haunting him the way he never wished for.
“I wasn’t sure till now.” Dean’s head is close to his own, and John remembers scooping him into an easy embrace, the warmth of his son’s little arms about his neck as he carried him to bed. The tickle of Dean’s breath against his collar bone.
“We fought this thing a while back in Richardson, a tulpa. There were these symbols.” There’s a soft chuckle in Dean’s voice, and John hears Mary’s laugh in it. “Tibetan. We checked them out.”
There a part of his heart that swells with pride, even as it breaks. “You recognized the amulet?”
“It was something Sam said.” Dean says it fondly, his fingers still clasped around his necklace. “He said it makes you wonder how many of these things existed just because people believed in them.” The smile now is the one he kept only for Sam. “Don’t think he figured it out, though.” He grins broader. “Though you can never tell with Sammy.”
John nods, tries to answer Dean’s smile with one of his own. He almost manages it. “No, son, I never could.”
“I died in the fire, then?” Dean says it in that matter-of-fact way, no hint of the resentment that should be there.
“You went back in.” It’s been so long he’s almost forgotten. Spent twenty-two years needing to forget, needing to believe he saved them both, needing Dean too much to let him go. “You went back for your mom and me when you got Sammy out.”
“Figured that was it.” There’s nothing but gentle understanding in Dean’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Dad.”
The apology eats into his heart, just a little more. “For what, son?”
“I didn’t do what you told me.”
Don’t look back. Now, Dean. Go.
And John suddenly sees all his hopes and fears and dreams of the perfect son he needed embodied in this man; surpassed by him. He wonders how he never saw it before.
“It’s time for you to go now, son.” John reaches up and closes his hand around the back of Dean’s neck, unhooks the pendant. Keeps his hand on the nape of his neck, pulling Dean close, so close he can almost feel him.
“You watch out for Sammy, you got that?” He slides the amulet off the necklace, holds it for a moment, wonders if they’ll see Mary there.
Don’t look back.
Dean smiles before he fades, and this time the smile is just for John.
“Yes, sir."