Untitled Supernatural (gen; John POV)
This really isn't a fic, and it isn't really a drabble. Mostly, it's just me trying to get my John voice down before I work on his part of my House/SPN crossover (although this is set when the Winchester boys are still boys).
So, read if you're into SPN, or if you have some random urge to see how I get my writing to come together, but it's mostly just a personal experiment in characterization. ^^
They're growing up too fast, Mary. I keep telling them to stop, but you know how well they listen to me. Sam's grown about a foot since school started, I swear, and Dean could probably kick my ass if he got the mind to. Not that I'm about to let on, you understand. Can't bear the thought of taking an ass-whipping from my son, much less having to give him one.
It won't be Dean to bow up, though. I can already see it in Sammy, just like my Daddy saw it in me. So angry at everything, never quite fitting into things. Reckon he'd fit in just fine if things were...normal...and Dean would be the one raging, but as things stand...well, he's young yet. I never thought I'd agree with my old man, but a part of me wishes he would get some time in the service. Dean's the one that would fit in, that one fits in everywhere, but Sam's the one that needs the discipline.
Not that it's done me all that much good. I wonder if you'd even know me. Sometimes I don't feel like I don't know myself. I wonder if I'm doing the right thing, and most times I know that I'm not. I haven't done right by your sons, Mary, but so help me, I've tried. For the longest time, I thought that leaving you behind was the hardest thing I'd ever have to do, but I was wrong, I was so wrong.
Waking up every morning, that's hard. Going to bed at night, that's hard too. But it's the daily wear and tear of it, the grind of it on my heart that just keeps wearing at me, wearing me down to nothing. And that's what's hardest, seeing what I do to our boys when I'm nothing but exposed nerves and hate and fear and wanting it all to be over and never knowing how to end it and making the same mistakes over and over and over again.
They're good, strong boys and they'll be good, strong men, but I can't help but think that I'm ruining them some way, deep down where the scars won't show. Trying to keep them safe is taking a toll, I know it is, but I don't know of any other way to do it. I wish I did. I wish you were here to show me. I wish like hell you were the one here with them.
It makes it easier, talking to you, like we used to do before Dean woke up. Remember how he'd sleep in between us, and I'd have to carry him out to his bed without waking him up. Can't do that now. I can watch him, though, while he sleeps, just like when he was small, and Sammy too. They're beautiful boys, both of them, and I'm so proud of them it hurts me sometimes.
Suppose I should get up and make some coffee, get these Huns off to school. I love you, honey.
So, read if you're into SPN, or if you have some random urge to see how I get my writing to come together, but it's mostly just a personal experiment in characterization. ^^
They're growing up too fast, Mary. I keep telling them to stop, but you know how well they listen to me. Sam's grown about a foot since school started, I swear, and Dean could probably kick my ass if he got the mind to. Not that I'm about to let on, you understand. Can't bear the thought of taking an ass-whipping from my son, much less having to give him one.
It won't be Dean to bow up, though. I can already see it in Sammy, just like my Daddy saw it in me. So angry at everything, never quite fitting into things. Reckon he'd fit in just fine if things were...normal...and Dean would be the one raging, but as things stand...well, he's young yet. I never thought I'd agree with my old man, but a part of me wishes he would get some time in the service. Dean's the one that would fit in, that one fits in everywhere, but Sam's the one that needs the discipline.
Not that it's done me all that much good. I wonder if you'd even know me. Sometimes I don't feel like I don't know myself. I wonder if I'm doing the right thing, and most times I know that I'm not. I haven't done right by your sons, Mary, but so help me, I've tried. For the longest time, I thought that leaving you behind was the hardest thing I'd ever have to do, but I was wrong, I was so wrong.
Waking up every morning, that's hard. Going to bed at night, that's hard too. But it's the daily wear and tear of it, the grind of it on my heart that just keeps wearing at me, wearing me down to nothing. And that's what's hardest, seeing what I do to our boys when I'm nothing but exposed nerves and hate and fear and wanting it all to be over and never knowing how to end it and making the same mistakes over and over and over again.
They're good, strong boys and they'll be good, strong men, but I can't help but think that I'm ruining them some way, deep down where the scars won't show. Trying to keep them safe is taking a toll, I know it is, but I don't know of any other way to do it. I wish I did. I wish you were here to show me. I wish like hell you were the one here with them.
It makes it easier, talking to you, like we used to do before Dean woke up. Remember how he'd sleep in between us, and I'd have to carry him out to his bed without waking him up. Can't do that now. I can watch him, though, while he sleeps, just like when he was small, and Sammy too. They're beautiful boys, both of them, and I'm so proud of them it hurts me sometimes.
Suppose I should get up and make some coffee, get these Huns off to school. I love you, honey.