I Saw Daddy Kissing Santa Claus 2/2
Title: I Saw Daddy Kissing Santa Claus Chapter 2/2
Author: JCRGIRL
Banner: emeraldheiress
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Wincest, AU, BabyFic (Non-MPreg), Flashback heavy
Word Count: ~ 4350
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. Just playing in Kripke's sandbox.
Beta: Unbeta'd
Summary: Christmas Winchester style with surprises and revelations.
Author Notes: Joey Verse and chronologically follows 'The Homewrecker'. Title from the song "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus". This is the aforementioned 'get myself out of a corner' piece that I had to write so I could do 'Babes in Toyland', where the boys work with Casey's crew. It is from John's POV and completely unbeta'd since my beta is knee deep in finals.
John’s body ached from sitting in the same position for so long. His eyes burned from lack of sleep and hours of staring at the same spot on the wall - a tear in the aging paper revealing the chalky surface of the drywall beneath. It was 13 rosebuds up from the baseboard and 25 rosebuds to the right of the door. John knew. He’d spent the second hour after coming back upstairs counting and recounting the dull flowers.
He’d spent the first trying to erase the image of his sons from his mind. His fingers itched for the feel of smooth glass and his mouth watered for the taste of burning liquid as if they knew his overwhelmed brain needed the oblivion of alcohol, but he couldn’t reach for the bottle. Bobby kept all his liquor in the den and John’s private supply was in the truck, either way he’d have to pass his sons to get to them and that was definitely the last thing he needed. So he sat and stared until the darkness of night slowly lightened to the grayness of dawn.
Lifting off the bed on stiff muscles and knuckling his dry, tired eyes, John mechanically changed into fresh clothes and slipped silently from this room. The door to the other guest room was slightly ajar and he forced his gaze to stay on the weathered floorboards to keep from seeing anything that might make him break the mental bleach back out. He padded down the stairs, feet avoiding loose and creaky places with memorized movements.
The idea of quietly leaving was his goal until the smell of fresh brewed coffee, wafting from the kitchen, tickled his nose. Figuring he was more likely to drive off the road and into a snowdrift, or worse a tree, without a little caffeinated revitalization, he grudgingly headed to the kitchen.
Bobby was seated at the small table, one hand holding a steaming cup of coffee while the other idly scratched behind the ears of the dogs seated next to him, alternating from one to the other. Several newspapers lay open before him, covering every inch of the butcherblock surface in overlapping layers of black and white. John scrubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw and walked to the coffee pot. Carrying his mug to the table, he sighed and dropped into the chair opposite his fellow hunter.
“Find anything promising?” He motioned to the newsprint with his chin before taking a long sip of the strong coffee.
“Nah, this is the local paper. The worst demons we see around here are personal ones. Unless you count the Sanders’ kids, I think they’re at least part hellspawn. According to the birth announcements, she just popped out their sixth.” Bobby laughed at his own joke, frowning when his friend didn’t join in. Folding the sheets, he added, “I’ll get on the internet later to check the rest of the country.”
“Mmmm,” John mumbled, eyes fixed on the mug of black liquid cradled in his hands.
“You look like something even Rumsfeld wouldn’t drag in,” Bobby considered John carefully. “Something happen with the boys that I don’t know about?”
John’s head jerked up at the question, eyes a little too wide. Bobby studied him for a long minute before pressing his lips together in a hard line and pushing his chair back from the table. Disappearing into the den, John could hear the other man opening cabinets and moving around what sounded like glass. Coming back with a full, blue labeled bottle of amber liquid, Bobby twisted the cap off and poured a generous amount into the mug in front of John then a slightly less generous amount into his own.
“I was saving this to give to Rufus for Christmas, but I think you need it more.” Settling into his chair, he capped the bottle and took a drink. “Go on,” he gestured to John’s untouched mug, “you’ll need something if we’re going to have this conversation.”
John took a healthy swig and choked when realization hit. “You know?”
“Yeah.” Bobby ignored the accusatory element in John’s tone.
John rubbed a hand over his forehead and lifted the mug to his lips again. Swallowing gentler, he relished the smooth slide of the liquor down his throat. “How long,” he asked, wearily.
“How long, what? How long have they been in love with each other? Years. How long have I suspected? Definitely since North Carolina, but, honestly, I think even before then. How long have I known for certain? Since the summer.”
“They told you?”
“Not in so many words, but they know that I know. It wasn’t that hard to figure out really. Anyone with half a brain can see it.”
The oldest Winchester snorted a harsh laugh and shook his head. “You’re okay with this,” he muttered in disbelief, “how can you be okay with this? Bobby, their brothers for Christ sakes.”
“You think I don’t know that.” Bobby slammed his hand down on the table, voice raising in anger. The two dogs resting at his feet, jumped up at the sound. “I raised those boys just as much as you did.”
“Then how can you accept it,” John asked again. “It’s disgusting, it’s vile…”
“It’s love,” Bobby interrupted. “I’ve seen a lot of things in this life, John Winchester, but I have never seen two people who love each other more than your boys do. So, who am I to pass judgment on that? Who am I to say whether it’s right or not?” Bobby stood from his chair, shooing away the dogs nudging worriedly at his leg. “Maybe you need to be less concerned about the fact that they’re brothers and be grateful that they found someone. It’s a helluva a lot more than most hunters ever get.”
Bobby turned and dumped the remains of his coffee in the sink. John watched him thoughtfully as he rinsed the ceramic and placed it on the draining board. As Bobby passed his grandson’s antique wooden high chair, John tried again. “What about Joey?”
“What about Joey,” Bobby asked through gritted teeth, not turning to look at the other man.
“You think this is what is in his best interest? Brother fuckers don’t seem to me like they'd be good parents.”
Bobby spun around, a cold look on his face as he regarded his friend. “Joey has everything a child could ask for. He has two parents that love him unconditionally, who are there for him, support him, would die for him. Two parents that love each other the same way. What more do you think he needs? It’s more than you ever gave either of your own sons,” he spat then stormed from the room. The black dogs stared at John before following after him.
John finished his coffee, allowing the liquor to warm his numb body and calm his frazzled nerves. Rising from the table, he ran his hands over the pockets of his jeans and cursed. In his haste to get downstairs before his children woke, he forgot to get his wallet and keys. Rolling his eyes up in the direction of the God that obviously hated him, he made his way up the stairs.
The door to his sons’ room was still opened a crack and John didn’t believe it was intentional. Over the years he’d stayed in that room and knew that the door didn’t sit in the casing well and when the heat came on it tended to pop open. He prodded the wood to widen the crack so he could see the occupants, morbid curiosity motivating his actions. The twin beds were pushed together, belts looped around the legs at the head and foot to keep them from separating. A green thermal shirt lay puddled on the floor next to one side while the blue match lay puddled on the other. John’s mind was thankful to be relieved of the images that plaid fabric would have conjured.
Sam’s head lay on Dean’s shoulder in the place John had trained his oldest to seat the butt of a rifle. Even though the sheet was pulled up to their waist, John could tell that their legs lay tangled together beneath it. Sam’s left hand rested over his brother’s heart while Dean’s cupped a scarred bicep. The scene was serene, his boys at peace like he’d never seen them before.
In the crib, Joey shuffled, the sheets rustling and his diaper crinkling with the movement, and made a soft whimper. John froze waiting to see if the child or his parents would fully wake. Breathing a sigh of relief when no one stirred, he relaxed just as Joey made another noise.
On the bed, Dean shifted and tired eyelids lifted slowly. As green eyes met brown, John’s breath caught in his chest. They stared as the fitful child whined once more, pumped his legs, yawned and rolled over. Sam rubbed his cheek on Dean’s chest, his son’s cries pulling him into consciousness. Gaze never breaking; Dean moved his hand soothingly up and down Sam’s bicep, shushing him softly.
“Sleep, Sam. He’s okay,” Dean mumbled, dropping a kiss to Sam’s forehead.
Sam sighed and, pressing a kiss to Dean’s neck, stilled. Dean’s eyes took on a challenging aspect, daring John to say or do anything. The standoff seemed to John to last forever though he knew it had to be just a few minutes. After a tense moment, Dean rested his cheek against the top of Sam’s head and closed his eyes, a silent dismissal. John pulled the door closed and took a deep breath. Through the wood he could hear quiet words.
“Everything alright, De?”
“Everything’s fine. Go back to sleep, Sammy. It’s still early.”
“M’kay” was the sleepy reply. The soft kiss was barely audible, but John heard it louder than a gunshot.
He darted to his room, grabbed his keys, wallet and cellphone and all but ran to his truck.
John sat in his truck near a small park, a newly purchased bottle of Tennessee’s finest in his hand. The view out his front windshield was of happy children, swinging on the swings, sliding down the slides and running around chasing one another. Parents watched from benches lining the perimeter of the small playground. This is what he wanted for Joey. Normalcy. You couldn’t have normalcy when your parents were brothers…who slept together. Shuddering, he took another deep pull of the honey colored whisky.
He sat there, swallowing mouthful after mouthful and watching the families. As the bottle went from full to three quarters, he noticed the parents. Every adult was preoccupied by something: community gossip, the latest novel, their cellphones. Even when the Moms and Dads sat next to each other on the benches, they didn’t talk or interact. If you didn’t see the child run back calling to them, you wouldn’t realize they knew each other. When the bottle reached half full, he noticed the children. During their play, sons and daughters would run over to their parents to be either ignored or shooed away. John actually heard a request for a push on the swing denied because ‘Mommy is too busy right now’. The little boy’s shoulders slumped as he turned to sit dejectedly on the swing while his mother returned to her conversation with another woman about the latest trouble befalling a pop diva princess. Okay maybe this wasn’t exactly what he wanted for Joey, but it still had to be better than what Dean and Sam were doing. Right? When the bottle reached the quarter full mark, John picked up his phone and thumbed through his contact list to a number he had saved but never used. Pressing SEND, he lifted the receiver to his ear.
“Hello?”
“Did you know?” The whisky warming his gut negated any attempt he may have made to keep the angry accusation from his tone.
“Who is - John?”
“Did. You. Know?” The words hissed through his teeth.
The person on the other end of the line paused long enough for John to pull the phone away to see if the call had been disconnected. Finally, he heard a weary sigh followed by “Yes. I have for a long time.”
“And you just gave them Joey?”
“Sam is his father and he and Dean are excellent parents. Why wouldn’t I give him to them?”
“I don’t know because they are fucking each other.” John felt the heat of anger and intoxication color his cheeks. Why was everyone so ready to defend this? Didn’t they realize it was wrong? “Don’t you care his soul is probably now damned right along with theirs? What do your precious angels think about all this? Do they know?”
Casey made a noise somewhere between a hiss and a snarl. “My son’s soul is not damned! Only he can damn his soul. Dean and Sam’s are perfectly safe as well. I think you are confusing the laws of God with the laws of God. Trust me, Heaven knows and it doesn’t care.”
John blinked, surprise choking off any response. “Heav-heaven knows?”
“Yes, John.” There was a moment of silence as John tried to digest this new information before Casey spoke again. “Can I ask you a question?
“Yeah,” John replied warily, knowing he probably wasn’t going to like it.
“Do you love your sons and Joey?”
“What the hell kind of question is that? Of course, I love them. I wouldn’t be upset about this if I didn’t.”
“Okay. You know my talents, John, so some words to the wise. This is real, it is truth and it is permanent. If you want to be a part of their lives, watch your grandson grow up, then you’d better figure a way around your feelings on this.”
“I don’t know if I can do that.” John drained the last drop from the bottle and threw the empty container to the floorboard of the passenger side.
“John, after two decades of hate, hate so strong you nearly shot me the last time we saw each other, you picked up a phone and called me. We’ve spent the last five minutes talking and you haven’t called me a bitch once. And I just gave you some advice and you actually are considering it. If you can do that, I think you can do anything.”
Dial tone echoed over the line and John closed his phone, throwing it after the bottle. He mulled over his jumbled thoughts in silence. He didn’t know how long he sat there, but when he looked over the park again the crowd had thinned and the faces had changed. Twisting the key in the ignition, he threw the car in reverse and backed out of his space.
John pulled up in front of the festively lit house just after twilight. Steeling himself, he pulled the collar of his jacket tighter around his neck and pushed the door open. The house of warm and laughter, both adult and childlike, floated out from the den. Stepping into the archway, John took a moment to memorize the sight.
Sam lay on a blanket spread over the floor, surrounded by a zoo of stuffed animals, as Joey straddled his back. Bouncing up and down, the little boy’s delighted demands of ‘horsey’ mixed with his father’s good-natured grunts as, from the couch, Dean and Bobby encouraged Joey to bounce harder and wiped tears of laughter from their eyes. The two dogs watched their humans with mild curiosity from their position in front of the crackling fire.
Dean turned toward him, as if sensing his father’s presence, and his smile slid from his face as his laughter died. Bobby and Sam’s gazes followed and soon silence reigned in the previously happy room. Joey jumped a few more times on Sam’s spine before realizing the change in the room’s mood. He stilled, eyes darting to the somber faces of the three men.
“Dad,” Dean greeted coolly.
“Dean,” John answered just as coolly.
“I think I’m, ah…going to go, um...take a look at the heater upstairs. It, ah, was making a funny noise last night.” Bobby stood and John didn’t miss how the old hunter’s eyes fixed on Dean.
“Hey, Bobby,” Sam lifted up on his forearms and twisted his upper body so he could better see their host, careful to leave his stomach on the ground so he wouldn’t unseat his rider. “Do you mind taking Joey upstairs and giving him his bath? It would be a real treat for him if you’d do it.” Sam’s eyes volleyed back and forth from his brother to his father before they turned pleadingly to Bobby.
“Of course. Come on, Possum. Want to soak Grandpa Bobby down?” The older man came over and lifted the boy from his father’s back, a sharp squeal and a face splitting grin answering his question.
“Thanks.” Sam’s smile exuded genuine gratitude as he sat up. “His pajamas are on my bed. I’ll be up in a few minutes to tuck him in.”
“No problem,” Bobby smiled, carrying his grandson past his other Grandfather and away from the blast zone.
The three Winchesters watched as Bobby carried the next generation of their family up the stairs. Sam was the first to move, standing from his place on the floor. He stood uncertainly for a moment until Dean held out his hand to him, motioning hims closer. Stepping over to the couch, he sat next to Dean and they turned expectant glances to their father. John pushed up from his lean against the archway and crossed to the chair, dropping into it heavily.
“Dad,” Sam began.
“Don’t,” John barked harshly, not surprised that Dean told his brother what happened while he was sleeping.
“Now wait a damn minute,” Dean growled protectively, hackles rising at his father’s tone. In front of the fire, Angus rose to his feet, a low growl of his own vibrating his vocal chords, as Rumsfeld stood beside him.
“Dean, shut up and do something about that dog before I put a bullet in its brain.”
“Angus,” Sam called softly, index and middle finger tapping his calf lightly. The puppy came obediently to his master and sat beside Sam’s leg. Rumsfeld followed, sitting down in front of Sam. John looked down at them to find both set of black eyes trained on him.
“I don’t understand how this could happen.” John scrubbed a hand over his face. “I didn’t raise you to think that this is okay. How could you do this?” John’s eyes cut to the cabinet that held the rest of the blue labeled bottle that he and Bobby had opened this morning, but he forced them back to his sons. He’d spent most of the afternoon sleeping off his liquid breakfast and really needed to keep his head clear for this conversation.
“How could you fall in love with Mom,” Dean shot back. “You act like this is something that we just woke up one morning and decided to do. You don’t choose who you fall in love with, it just happens. We love each other and there is nothing you can say that will change that.”
“Dean,” Sam’s voice sounded small in the wake of Dean’s temper and John turned his eyes to his youngest. Sam’s hand was resting lightly on Dean’s forearm and his eyes were upturned to where they could hear water running in the guest bathroom. Panting, Dean nodded and took a few calming breaths.
“Dad, what Dean said is true. I love him and he loves me.” Dean smiled fondly at Sam as he spoke. “We’ve got a good life, one we really want you to be a part of, but this,” Sam slid his hand down Dean’s arm to interlace their fingers, “it’s not going away. So you need to decide whether you can accept us as us and be a part of our lives or not. If it’s not, then,” he looked at his brother and at Dean’s nod, continued, “then I think you should probably leave.”
“I can’t.” John knew his voice held a hint of the desperation and sorrow he felt. His sons’ shoulders slumped like the little boy’s on the playground and John didn’t want that this for his children any more than he wanted it for Joey. He remembered the happiness he’d been greeted with when he got back and the joy he’d witnessed from the small family in his last visits. It was John’s fault it wasn’t there now. He was the reason his sons looked like the boys he remembered instead of the men they’d become. How could something that made them so happy, be wrong? Clearing his throat, he amended, “I can’t right now. I need some time to wrap my head around this. Can you give me that?”
Dean lifted his head a sad smile pulling at one corner of his mouth. “You know how to get a hold of us when you're ready.”
Nodding, John stood up and went up the stairs to collect his things. The conversation had gone better than he’d imagined and he’d made more concessions than he ever thought he would. Maybe Casey was right. He met Bobby in the hallway as he carried a squeaky clean Joey, now dressed in red and green pajamas, toward the bedroom the small boy shared with his parents. John placed a kiss to his grandson’s forehead and deeply inhaled the scent of baby shampoo, promising himself that he’d smell it again soon. Patting Bobby on the back, he said lowly, “Keep an eye on them for me,” then went into his room and grabbed his duffle.
At the bottom of the stairs, he paused glancing into the den to find his boys where he’d left them. They had shifted so Dean’s arm now encased Sam’s body and they both stared unseeingly into the fire. The peacefulness of this morning wasn’t there but there was an easy contentment. Yeah, he needed a little time but there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he’d make the right choice. He adjusted the strap to his bag and headed to the truck. The rumbling sound of his pick-up
shattered the quiet Christmas Eve night.
Christmas morning dawned bright and early and Bobby’s house was filled with laughter and cheer. Joey tore at his gifts with the enthusiasm that all children share on this day, infecting the somewhat melancholy adults with holiday spirit. After the chaos of gift opening, Dean sat on the floor with Joey helping to assemble his new firestation. Their canine audience, bedecked in stick-on bows courtesy of Joey, watched from their warm spot near the fireplace.
“Screw part C to the base (part D) using the ¼” screws (part L). You almost need a PhD to assemble this thing,” Dean muttered, sifting through the parts before him looking for C, D, and L. Next to him Joey was pushing the firefighter back and forth in the fire truck, oblivious to his DeeDee's frustration.
“Need help,” Sam offered, bringing Dean a cup of coffee and Joey a sippy cup of milk. He bent over and picked up the empty plate that last night had held Santa’s cookies to take it in the kitchen.
“Nah, I got it. Thanks though,” Dean squeezed Sam’s calf.
Sam started toward the kitchen when a knock on the front door stopped him. Bobby walked into the den with a raised eyebrow and received two head shakes to his unasked question. Sam went to the desk and, setting the plate down, opened the top drawer to retrieve the guns there. Passing one to Bobby and one to Dean, he checked the clip of his own and chambered the first bullet.
Dean carefully placed his under the corner of the blanket and inched closer to his son as the other men cautiously moved to the front door. Sam opened it as Bobby stood behind it.
Sam looked down at the man standing on the other side of the door. He was a non-descript man, short enough to only come to Sam’s shoulder, but with a pleasant face. In his hand, he held a wooden clipboard with what looked like an invoice attached. “I’m looking for Dean and Sam,” consulting the papers, he added, “I’m sorry I don’t have a last name on the order.”
“What do you want with them,” Sam answered suspiciously. He held his gun hand slightly behind his back so not to be seen by the man. When the man had asked for him and Dean, Sam had cocked the hammer, hearing the echo of Bobby doing the same.
“I have a delivery for them,” the guy jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of a white box truck sporting the logo for a local furniture store.
“You’re making a delivery on Christmas,” Sam asked skeptically, straightening to make his presence more imposing.
“Look, I know this is odd, but I’m Jewish. Today is just another day to me and this guy offered me $500 to make this delivery so long as it was today. I’d be stupid to pass it up. Hanukah put a big dent in the old wallet. Here take a look at the order while I get it out of the truck.”
Sam scanned the delivery order, eyes widening in shock as he flipped the pages back and forth a few times. Dean came up to the door and motioned for Bobby to go in the den with Joey.
“What is it?” Dean looked over Sam’s shoulder seeing the logo for Ferguson’s Furniture on the top of the paper Sam was reading. “Who’s it from?”
“Dad,” Sam answered. He turned to his brother and held out the clipboard. “He bought us a king sized bed.” Sam lifted the delivery notice to reveal a handwritten note beneath.
Boys,
Something to replace the twins. I think you’ve outgrown them. Merry Christmas.
See you soon,
Dad
“What do you think it means?” Sam stepped back as the delivery guy and one who’d obviously been sitting in the truck, pushed a plush mattress through the front door.
“It means there’s hope,” Dean smiled, climbing the stairs to show the delivery men where to put their new bed.