Fic: Taking My Time
Title: Taking My Time
Author: mysticallight6
Characters: John, Sam & Dean
Genre: Family, circa-1996 (one year since the events depicted in 9x07 'Bad Boys')
Rating: T
Word Count: 1,849
Prompt # 71 from BigPretzel Adopt a Plot FFA - John is home with the boys for a few weeks (recovering from wounds?). The school is forcing the boys to do at least one other activity and John comes faithfully to experience whatever they are doing
Summary: John needs to tell his sons he's proud of them more often when he discovers a little secret they've been keeping from him while he's convalescing.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. Nothing monetary is being made for my having written this piece. I also do not own the song 'Foreplay/Long Time'. That is owned by the band Boston.
This is my offering for the community's Adopt a Plot. (The only reason I picked the song I did was because it was playing when I was plotting out the story and sort of fit.)
Picture this as one of those school's that has the middle and high schools attached Enjoy.
"Pills. Pills. Oh - there they are."
John swallowed the high grade Tylenol dry and contemplated pulling the cast off of his arm and using it to scratch his injured limb. Sure was scratchy enough.
Four weeks. He was never going to last four weeks without searching for that damn thing that killed Mary and stopping whatever freak stepped in his way.
He was just about to give Bobby a call when, "I'm going to kill you, Sam!"
Ah, the sweet, dulcet tones of his two boys. Wait, school was finished already? John snuck a look at the motel room's clock and, yeah, it was just after 3 pm. The school was really only two blocks up the street and he probably could've walked over there and met them but, you know. Bobby might have something small the boys could take care of after homework and John’s patented wrestling practice…
Dean slammed the door open and stalked inside carrying...what was that? A guitar case? What? Sam stumbled in after him with two drumsticks in hand and politely shut the door behind him.
"I said shut up, Sam."
"Boys."
Dean immediately turned as though shocked, probably forgetting his father was actually around for once and murmured, "Sorry, sir."
"Hi Dad," Sam said, throwing down his backpack and drumsticks.
"What's...up?" John asked, scratching the top of the cast for the fourth time today and staring at the white case in disgust.
His two sons stared at him dumb-struck for a minute and John rolled his eyes and got up. He walked over to Sam (who practically stumbled over his own feet trying to get out of the way) and grabbed one of the sticks and expertly twirled it in the fingers of his good hand.
"Whoa," both boys gasped, awed.
John immediately used it to scratch inside the plaster and damn did it feel good. "What class is this for? You join the band?"
"It's, um, it's called MI-101. Introduction to Musical Instruments. Dad." Dean said.
"Dean’s taking that and I’m taking the middle school equivalent. Since we signed up at the school late," Sam explained, "that was the only elective that was left. Well, that or square dancing."
Both boys shuddered at the thought which almost broke through John's brick wall. Almost.
"How is school?" John asked, reverently putting down the stick on his nightstand and sitting down on his bed.
"Fine," Dean answered immediately before rushing into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.
Boy was struggling again then. John looked down at his youngest, knowing they sometimes talked when he wasn’t around and waiting for an explanation of some kind.
"Don't look at me. I don't speak sixteen year old boy."
"Well how are you doing then, Sam? Classes good?" John asked leaning against the headboard, feeling the effects of the pills taking hold.
"Fine. Having a little trouble with pre-Algebra but I'm sure it's because at the last school they were a little slower. I'll catch up."
"That's good." John got comfortable before shutting his eyes and drifting off to a slightly pain-free sleep.
*John woke a few hours later to find the room empty and a sandwich waiting for him on the nightstand. Under the sandwich was a hastily written note from Dean.
'Went to school to work with Sammy. Be back before nightfall.'
One look out the window and at the clock told John that the sun had long since set and the quiet of the room was quickly unnerving him. His boys were out after dark, alone. They promised they’d be home and they weren’t there. Something might've happened to them. A freak might've gotten to them.
Groggy and stiff, John got up, grabbed his coat and left the room, making his way to the school. Unfortunately the cast was too bulky and wouldn’t fit into his sleeve so he threw down the coat and kept on going. He turned the final corner and scanned the large building until he could see the one window on the lower level still illuminated in the whole otherwise empty building. John went to the nearest door and was lucky enough that it was unlocked, allowing him to go inside.
"Boys?" he whispered loudly into the void.
He took a few steps and then, all of a sudden, he could hear them. Not their voices, no, but their instruments. Somewhere there was a drum pounding and a guitar making the most beautiful noise he'd ever heard. It couldn't be... John came to the single room where the bright lights were still on and stood outside, looking in.
Dean, sitting with his eyes closed and his head moving along with the music and Sam, tongue between his teeth, playing along with him. There were two night janitors in there as well, on their lunch break probably, sitting in with them and moving their heads along with the music too.
After listening for a few minutes, John recognized the song that they were playing as from the band Boston - and they were good. Ever since last year when he was at that boy’s home, Dean had only once in private asked if he could have a guitar of his own. John said no and the subject was totally dropped. Drifting through the door, he could also faintly hear Dean humming along. Boy could hum like anyone but the minute he opened his mouth to sing along and that ended any hope of an angelic sounding voice. No matter what the boy thought, he just could not sing a proper note to save his life. John realized just a second too late that he was still standing there, staring, when Sam turned his head and saw him through the window slits. Oops.
"Dad," he gasped as if John were some kind of ghoul, before almost falling into the cymbals in his haste.
Dean threw himself out of his strumming daydream and began clutching the guitar’s neck tightly in his grip.
Realizing he was caught red handed, John opened the door and stepped inside. No one said anything as he stood there, scratching the back of his head.
"Are you these boys’ father?" one of the janitors finally asked, putting down his half sandwich.
"Um, yes."
The man strode forward and took John by his good hand and shook it. "Your sons are marvelous. You must be so proud of them."
John felt his face heating up. He really had no idea.
*
Dean walked into the motel room first with the guitar case in hand, followed by Sam and then John brought up the rear. Both boys immediately took a seat on the bed they were sharing and waited for their father’s usual scolding. He shut the door and locked it and before even turning he could hear Sam biting back a groan.
"So," John asked, turning back to face them, "that's what you've been doing on the nights since we've been here?"
"Yes, sir," Dean said, looking him straight in the eye instead of down at the floor. He didn’t see anything wrong with what they were doing and that was good. He was finally voicing his own opinions.
John knew he was going to floor them with this. "I'm not mad."
"You're...you're not?"
"Nope." John dragged a chair up to their bed and sat before them. "Why did you think this was something you boys needed to hide from me?"
The boys looked at each other and had one of their silent staring conversations, daring one to speak for both of them.
"We didn't really think you'd totally approve,” Dean said. “We sort of lied on the phone with you while you were out. Not all the time; just some of it."
"The thing is," Sam interjected, "is that, part of Dean's grade is that he had to either choose to join the school band or perform in the school’s talent show."
Figures that Sam would care more about his brother’s grade than Dean would.
"I figured,” Dean said, “since we're never really in town long, I went with talent show. It's next Friday and..."
"And we're still going to be around so you're screwed," John finished for him.
"Yup."
John nodded and leaned back in his chair. "You know what Dean - you're pretty good. I was listening to the two of you and, both of you, have a real knack for those instruments."
John felt a tear in his eye for the way both sons immediately turned scarlet - he really had to tell them that a bit more often.
"The song that you were playing for those janitors - you checked them out right?"
Dean nodded. "Salt, silver - the whole nine yards."
"Atta boys. Anyway, if you can find someone to sing it, then I don't see how you won't get a good grade for the semester."
"You really think we can do this?" Sam asked, trying to hide his smile.
John smiled for him. "Son, we're Winchesters. We literally have the word 'win' right in our name."
Both sons groaned at that but the good mood didn't die out so John counted that as another Winchester win.
*
Friday night, John walked into the cafeteria/auditorium and sat in the last seat of the back row. He watched everyone walking in closely and everyone appeared to be on the good side of normal. The lights dimmed and the acts began to perform.
After forty-five minutes, the only interesting thing that happened was that the girl with the fire-batons (seriously, aren't there always at least one of those) set the back curtain on fire. Luckily it was put out immediately and no one was injured.
"Our next act," the MC announced, "is the Brothers Winchester featuring lead singer Josie Midland."
Dean mentioned he’d talked someone from class into working with them. But a girl? The curtain went up and immediately Dean began to play. Sam came in with the drums and it was just glorious. The brothers both played back and forth until Dean nodded to Josie and she nodded back to him with a smile.
"It's been such a long time/I think I should be goin', yeah. And time doesn't wait for me, it keeps on rollin'..."
John couldn't help but be mesmerized. He knew deep down that Mary would be so proud of them if she could see them now.
Dean really got into it, smiling and mouthing the words right along with Josie. Even Sam was bopping his head to the beat. He might've said he hated the songs during every trip - but these were the songs he'd grown up with and they were a part of him too no matter how much he denied it.
"...Well I'm takin' my time, I'm just movin' along/Takin' my time, just movin' along/Takin' my time, takin' my time..."
Many audience members got to their feet and John put his fingers of his good hand into his mouth and whistled as they bowed and the curtain fell on them again. Another patented Winchester win.
Author: mysticallight6
Characters: John, Sam & Dean
Genre: Family, circa-1996 (one year since the events depicted in 9x07 'Bad Boys')
Rating: T
Word Count: 1,849
Prompt # 71 from BigPretzel Adopt a Plot FFA - John is home with the boys for a few weeks (recovering from wounds?). The school is forcing the boys to do at least one other activity and John comes faithfully to experience whatever they are doing
Summary: John needs to tell his sons he's proud of them more often when he discovers a little secret they've been keeping from him while he's convalescing.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. Nothing monetary is being made for my having written this piece. I also do not own the song 'Foreplay/Long Time'. That is owned by the band Boston.
This is my offering for the community's Adopt a Plot. (The only reason I picked the song I did was because it was playing when I was plotting out the story and sort of fit.)
Picture this as one of those school's that has the middle and high schools attached Enjoy.
"Pills. Pills. Oh - there they are."
John swallowed the high grade Tylenol dry and contemplated pulling the cast off of his arm and using it to scratch his injured limb. Sure was scratchy enough.
Four weeks. He was never going to last four weeks without searching for that damn thing that killed Mary and stopping whatever freak stepped in his way.
He was just about to give Bobby a call when, "I'm going to kill you, Sam!"
Ah, the sweet, dulcet tones of his two boys. Wait, school was finished already? John snuck a look at the motel room's clock and, yeah, it was just after 3 pm. The school was really only two blocks up the street and he probably could've walked over there and met them but, you know. Bobby might have something small the boys could take care of after homework and John’s patented wrestling practice…
Dean slammed the door open and stalked inside carrying...what was that? A guitar case? What? Sam stumbled in after him with two drumsticks in hand and politely shut the door behind him.
"I said shut up, Sam."
"Boys."
Dean immediately turned as though shocked, probably forgetting his father was actually around for once and murmured, "Sorry, sir."
"Hi Dad," Sam said, throwing down his backpack and drumsticks.
"What's...up?" John asked, scratching the top of the cast for the fourth time today and staring at the white case in disgust.
His two sons stared at him dumb-struck for a minute and John rolled his eyes and got up. He walked over to Sam (who practically stumbled over his own feet trying to get out of the way) and grabbed one of the sticks and expertly twirled it in the fingers of his good hand.
"Whoa," both boys gasped, awed.
John immediately used it to scratch inside the plaster and damn did it feel good. "What class is this for? You join the band?"
"It's, um, it's called MI-101. Introduction to Musical Instruments. Dad." Dean said.
"Dean’s taking that and I’m taking the middle school equivalent. Since we signed up at the school late," Sam explained, "that was the only elective that was left. Well, that or square dancing."
Both boys shuddered at the thought which almost broke through John's brick wall. Almost.
"How is school?" John asked, reverently putting down the stick on his nightstand and sitting down on his bed.
"Fine," Dean answered immediately before rushing into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.
Boy was struggling again then. John looked down at his youngest, knowing they sometimes talked when he wasn’t around and waiting for an explanation of some kind.
"Don't look at me. I don't speak sixteen year old boy."
"Well how are you doing then, Sam? Classes good?" John asked leaning against the headboard, feeling the effects of the pills taking hold.
"Fine. Having a little trouble with pre-Algebra but I'm sure it's because at the last school they were a little slower. I'll catch up."
"That's good." John got comfortable before shutting his eyes and drifting off to a slightly pain-free sleep.
*John woke a few hours later to find the room empty and a sandwich waiting for him on the nightstand. Under the sandwich was a hastily written note from Dean.
'Went to school to work with Sammy. Be back before nightfall.'
One look out the window and at the clock told John that the sun had long since set and the quiet of the room was quickly unnerving him. His boys were out after dark, alone. They promised they’d be home and they weren’t there. Something might've happened to them. A freak might've gotten to them.
Groggy and stiff, John got up, grabbed his coat and left the room, making his way to the school. Unfortunately the cast was too bulky and wouldn’t fit into his sleeve so he threw down the coat and kept on going. He turned the final corner and scanned the large building until he could see the one window on the lower level still illuminated in the whole otherwise empty building. John went to the nearest door and was lucky enough that it was unlocked, allowing him to go inside.
"Boys?" he whispered loudly into the void.
He took a few steps and then, all of a sudden, he could hear them. Not their voices, no, but their instruments. Somewhere there was a drum pounding and a guitar making the most beautiful noise he'd ever heard. It couldn't be... John came to the single room where the bright lights were still on and stood outside, looking in.
Dean, sitting with his eyes closed and his head moving along with the music and Sam, tongue between his teeth, playing along with him. There were two night janitors in there as well, on their lunch break probably, sitting in with them and moving their heads along with the music too.
After listening for a few minutes, John recognized the song that they were playing as from the band Boston - and they were good. Ever since last year when he was at that boy’s home, Dean had only once in private asked if he could have a guitar of his own. John said no and the subject was totally dropped. Drifting through the door, he could also faintly hear Dean humming along. Boy could hum like anyone but the minute he opened his mouth to sing along and that ended any hope of an angelic sounding voice. No matter what the boy thought, he just could not sing a proper note to save his life. John realized just a second too late that he was still standing there, staring, when Sam turned his head and saw him through the window slits. Oops.
"Dad," he gasped as if John were some kind of ghoul, before almost falling into the cymbals in his haste.
Dean threw himself out of his strumming daydream and began clutching the guitar’s neck tightly in his grip.
Realizing he was caught red handed, John opened the door and stepped inside. No one said anything as he stood there, scratching the back of his head.
"Are you these boys’ father?" one of the janitors finally asked, putting down his half sandwich.
"Um, yes."
The man strode forward and took John by his good hand and shook it. "Your sons are marvelous. You must be so proud of them."
John felt his face heating up. He really had no idea.
*
Dean walked into the motel room first with the guitar case in hand, followed by Sam and then John brought up the rear. Both boys immediately took a seat on the bed they were sharing and waited for their father’s usual scolding. He shut the door and locked it and before even turning he could hear Sam biting back a groan.
"So," John asked, turning back to face them, "that's what you've been doing on the nights since we've been here?"
"Yes, sir," Dean said, looking him straight in the eye instead of down at the floor. He didn’t see anything wrong with what they were doing and that was good. He was finally voicing his own opinions.
John knew he was going to floor them with this. "I'm not mad."
"You're...you're not?"
"Nope." John dragged a chair up to their bed and sat before them. "Why did you think this was something you boys needed to hide from me?"
The boys looked at each other and had one of their silent staring conversations, daring one to speak for both of them.
"We didn't really think you'd totally approve,” Dean said. “We sort of lied on the phone with you while you were out. Not all the time; just some of it."
"The thing is," Sam interjected, "is that, part of Dean's grade is that he had to either choose to join the school band or perform in the school’s talent show."
Figures that Sam would care more about his brother’s grade than Dean would.
"I figured,” Dean said, “since we're never really in town long, I went with talent show. It's next Friday and..."
"And we're still going to be around so you're screwed," John finished for him.
"Yup."
John nodded and leaned back in his chair. "You know what Dean - you're pretty good. I was listening to the two of you and, both of you, have a real knack for those instruments."
John felt a tear in his eye for the way both sons immediately turned scarlet - he really had to tell them that a bit more often.
"The song that you were playing for those janitors - you checked them out right?"
Dean nodded. "Salt, silver - the whole nine yards."
"Atta boys. Anyway, if you can find someone to sing it, then I don't see how you won't get a good grade for the semester."
"You really think we can do this?" Sam asked, trying to hide his smile.
John smiled for him. "Son, we're Winchesters. We literally have the word 'win' right in our name."
Both sons groaned at that but the good mood didn't die out so John counted that as another Winchester win.
*
Friday night, John walked into the cafeteria/auditorium and sat in the last seat of the back row. He watched everyone walking in closely and everyone appeared to be on the good side of normal. The lights dimmed and the acts began to perform.
After forty-five minutes, the only interesting thing that happened was that the girl with the fire-batons (seriously, aren't there always at least one of those) set the back curtain on fire. Luckily it was put out immediately and no one was injured.
"Our next act," the MC announced, "is the Brothers Winchester featuring lead singer Josie Midland."
Dean mentioned he’d talked someone from class into working with them. But a girl? The curtain went up and immediately Dean began to play. Sam came in with the drums and it was just glorious. The brothers both played back and forth until Dean nodded to Josie and she nodded back to him with a smile.
"It's been such a long time/I think I should be goin', yeah. And time doesn't wait for me, it keeps on rollin'..."
John couldn't help but be mesmerized. He knew deep down that Mary would be so proud of them if she could see them now.
Dean really got into it, smiling and mouthing the words right along with Josie. Even Sam was bopping his head to the beat. He might've said he hated the songs during every trip - but these were the songs he'd grown up with and they were a part of him too no matter how much he denied it.
"...Well I'm takin' my time, I'm just movin' along/Takin' my time, just movin' along/Takin' my time, takin' my time..."
Many audience members got to their feet and John put his fingers of his good hand into his mouth and whistled as they bowed and the curtain fell on them again. Another patented Winchester win.