Mockingbird [10/13]
Hello, friends! Guess what: I finished Mockingbird. Surprised? Yeah, so was I. I wouldn't be surprised if none of you even remember the fic. But it's done now, so I'll most likely be posting parts 10 (this one), 11, 12, and the epilogue at weekly intervals.
Rating: R
Pairing: Sam/John
Word Count: ~3,850
Disclaimer: Lies, Theft and Deceit.
Warnings: Daddycest. AU beyond belief.
Spoilers: Devil's Trap and beyond.
Summary: The boys face love and loss.
Part I
Part IX
+++
Mockingbird
Chapter X
+++
To help you count those little white sheep,
And sing you songs 'til you're asleep.
+++
Golden sunlight fell in stripes through the blinds, painting lines on the carpeting, the covers and the lumps underneath them. John watched the dust particles float through the air, lifted his hand to see them spiral through his fingers. Sam slept - for once! - peacefully pressed against his side, fingers hooked into the chain holding his dog tags. He snuffled softly in his sleep and shifted away, almost suffocating John. John slid down and fumbled for the clasp behind his neck, freeing himself and leaving Sam holding the metal plates.
Sam pulled his head away. John froze, but the kid only resettled and sniffed. John was tempted to lean over and brush the ever-growing hair from his face, but before he could actually work up the nerve to do it, the shrill blaring of his cell-phone had him jerking up in alarm.
He fumbled it from the bedside table, glanced at the display - Bobby - and flipped it open. “What?” he whispered.
He could almost see the confusion on Bobby’s face. ”M’I interrupting something?”
John shook his head, knowing the man would be able to tell from his tone. “Nah. Just don’t want you waking the kid.”
”What, I’m endangering your break from the fighting?” Bobby asked, sounding half annoyed and half amused at John’s antics, as usual.
John transferred the phone to his other ear as he glanced down at the boy asleep next to him, bare body sunk into the mattress in a kind of boneless grace. “Actually, we’re kind of getting along,” he said softly as he slid his legs out from under the covers, heading for the door.
“My.” Bobby’s voice was dry. “Hell froze over and no one gave me a memo.”
John scowled at the phone in his hand as he eased the patio door shut behind him. The air on the bare legs protruding from his boxers was cool but not uncomfortable, and he could actually feel himself smiling as he leaned one hand against the railing.
“I guess we’re just both really trying to make this work,” he admitted quietly.
“I’m shocked,” Bobby snickered, but before John could throw a tart reply at him, he sobered up. “Listen, John, there’ s something I gotta talk to you about.”
Usually, those words would have sent John into a state of total alarm, but Bobby was not one to try and talk about feelings, and the only person John had left to lose - and didn’t that just twist his heart - was fast asleep inside a protective ring of salt. “Must be bad if you’re giving me a warning,” he said. His dry tone almost masked his apprehension.
“You’re not gonna like it,” Bobby warned him.
John rolled his eyes. “Tell me anyway.”
There was a slight pause before Bobby finally said, “It’s about your car.”
John frowned as his heart quickened. “What about it?”
His friend sighed. “There was this broker fella here earlier, looking at vintage cars. Apparently quite the Chevrolet fanatic, and he’s still missing a ’65. Said he’d pay good money for it even though it’d be smarter to sell the thing for scrap.”
Bobby was right, John didn’t like it. He was fond of the Impala, yes, she’d been his beauty for more years than he cared to admit, but that wasn’t even really the issue. It wasn’t that she was his beauty. She was Dean’s. That was all there was to it. No corporate tool was getting his hands on her.
“Forget it,” he said brusquely.
“John-“
He shook his head. “No.”
He could hear Bobby sigh. “Look, John, I know you’re attached, believe me, but truth is, the kid’s not coming back. You can’t just leave ‘er here forever.”
“Why not? You have dozens of cars in your yard that you haven’t even looked at in years. What’s one more gonna do?”
“God, Winchester, you’re just…”
“Is there anything else you want?” John demanded.
Bobby was annoyed, he could tell, but he finally let it go. “I’ll call you if I have a hunt for you.”
“Yeah,” John said, ready to end this entire disaster of a conversation, but of course Bobby had to have the last word.
“Just… Think about it.”
John rolled his eyes and hung up without saying anything.
+++
Sam blinked open dark eyes when John crawled back under the covers. His lips curved into a slow smile.
“Oh no,” John protested, lifting a finger. “No kissing until you’ve brushed your teeth.”
Sam snorted, half indignantly and half amused, and pushed up against John, nestling against his side. “Whatever,” he yawned. “S’fine here.”
He nuzzled John’s ribs sleepily, mouthing a scar on his side until John couldn’t bear the soft tickling anymore and pulled him off.
“No sex until you’ve brushed your teeth, either,” he emphasized again.
Sam rolled his eyes. “Yes, Dad,” he said without any heat.
“You do realize that would only be offensive if I wasn’t actually your father,” John told him, amused.
Sam just rolled his eyes again and poked John in the side. “Thanks for reminding me.”
John grabbed Sam’s finger before he could jab it between his ribs again. “Would you stop?” he asked but he was laughing.
Sam grinned back at him and pointed at the spot he had just tormented. “Did you get stitches here? It looks like it was pretty bad.”
John frowned and craned his neck to find a scar right where his son had his free hand. “Uh, a poltergeist, I think,” he said, scratching his head. “Something pretty routine. Boring.” He let go of Sam’s hands and watched the boy slide his hands over John’s skin like he was mapping out the route to some unknown treasure.
“What about this one?” he asked, brushing one of the scars marking his chest lightly with his fingertips, smiling when John squirmed away because the feathery touch tickled.
John snatched the hand with his own, holding it still so he could concentrate. “Okay, okay, enough. I have no idea where that scar came from.”
Sam blinked. “You don’t know? It’s a hole in your body! How can you not know?”
“I have ‘holes’ all over my body, Sam,” John exclaimed, exasperated. “You really think I remember them all?”
“I do,” Sam told him. He looked like he was about to pout.
“You what?”
“Remember all my scars.”
“You do not.”
“Do too,” Sam snapped, sulking now.
“Are you trying to tell me,” John asked incredulously, “that you remember the story behind every single one of your scars?”
”Uh huh,” Sam confirmed, his eyes wide and curious. “Wanna bet?”
John raised an eyebrow in reply. He flipped the covers back, catching Sam’s wrist when the boy squawked and tried to pull them back up, and pointed at one of the thinner white lines on his son’s torso. “Fine. Where’s that one from?”
Sam looked down his body. His brows furrowed in concentration. “Uh. That was ‘Don’t try to take on a poltergeist with a faulty rifle’,” he said, shuddering with the memory.
John winced with him. He let go of the boy’s arm to run both hands up and down his body, turning his limbs to look at them from every angle, exploring every cut and blemish on the boy’s skin. He finally found one that intrigued him; a short, jagged one running along the underside of Sam’s upper arm, healed cleanly like it had been patched up in a hospital.
“And this one?” he asked, running his thumb over the skin there.
Sam craned his neck to look at it.“That one was ‘Don’t face a ghoul, ever’,” he said, making a face.
John chuckled low in his chest, reaching over to tap a particularly nasty one on Sam’s lower side. “And that?”
To his surprise, a bright flush crept over Sam’s cheeks and he draped his arm over his eyes as if to hide himself from the world. “That would be ‘Awesome books and rickety staircases don’t go together’,” he mumbled against his skin.
John frowned as an image floated by, unbidden, of blood splattered steps and a near-crying Dean cradling his brother’s head in his lap. “You never told me you had been reading.”
The warning tone came all by itself and Sam pressed himself deeper into the mattress. “I know,” he said, guilt painting his skin this time. “I’m sorry, I am.”
John reached over, pushing the arm away from Sam’s face, taking in the wide, pleading eyes. “I remember you kept saying that. We could never quite figure out why.”
“I’m going to the bathroom,” Sam said and sat up.
John caught him and pulled him back by his shoulders. “Like hell you are.”
Sam gave him a pleading look. “Look, Dad, just let it go, okay? It was ten years ago, it-“ and whatever he was going to say next was forgotten when he let out a sharp cry and toppled off the side of the bed, clutching his head.
John was across the mattress and at his side in a heartbeat, hauling his son upright and cradling him against his chest. He held Sam tightly until the gasping eased and his son loosened his death grip on John’s arm.
He looked around, disoriented, and blinked. “I’ma go get cleaned up,” he mumbled and pushed himself upright. He had stumbled halfway to the bathroom when John finally managed to pull himself together.
“Did you see anything?” he called.
Sam froze dead in his tracks, but when he turned around after a long moment, there was a smile pasted on his face. “Nah,” he said, “It was nothing. Just a couple of stars.”
John nodded and let him go without a word, despite the lie he could see in his eyes.
+++
Sam wasn’t sure what to say when, early one morning in a diner just outside Duluth, Minnesota, Dad put down the paper and announced, “We should go to San Francisco.”
He blinked once, swallowed, swallowed again, and blinked once more. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Why?”
“Werewolf,” his father said simply, like that was all there was to it. He didn’t say anything else, but he was watching Sam closely, his eyes dark and unreadable.
It took Sam a moment to remember that Dad knew about Jess, that Dad knew everything, and he nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said.
Dad blinked at him, surprised, but he just nodded like he wasn’t going to push his luck and signaled for the check.
+++
They were somewhere on route 41; the truck, quietly purring, eating up gas and miles alike. The last rays of sunlight were casting long shadows across the road. John glanced over at Sam where he was dozing against the passenger side window and lowered the volume on the radio. He spotted a sign for a roadside diner and frowned, unsure if he wanted to avoid Sam’s post-nap crankiness by letting him sleep or if that would just make it worse later when his son woke up hungry.
“Sam,” he said, raising his voice only a little.
“Yes, Daddy?”
John moved so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash when he turned his head to look at the boy. “You!” he hissed.
Sam, not his gigantic little boy Sam but that seductive monster that took over his body sometimes, winked at him. “Something I can do for you, Daddy?”
John thumped the steering wheel in frustration. “You can leave my kid the hell alone, for starters.”
“But I am your kid,” the creature protested with its eyes wide and innocent. “Don’t you recognize me? You should know this face pretty well by now, considering what you and your little boy get up to at night.”
John’s glare didn’t really help ease the nausea that was building up in his stomach. “That’s none of your business.”
Sam blinked dark eyes at him and grinned. “Bet you’re just kicking yourself now, aren’t you, Daddy? So many beautiful, carefree years you could have had with your resident fuck-toy, and instead you went chasing after ugly monsters. Not that they didn’t want a piece of you, but, you know - it’s not quite the same.”
“You need to shut the hell up,” John said, pointing a stern finger at his not-son.
“Yes, Daddy,” Sam said demurely. Before John had a chance to recover from the sudden change of behavior, he had already reached over and groped John with a wicked grin.
John batted his hand away. “What are you doing?”
“Shutting up,” Sam told him with a wink and reached between John’s legs again.
John shoved his hand away and wrenched the truck back into the right lane when it careened all over the road. Someone honked behind him but John ignored it. “Knock it off,” he snarled at the creature next to him.
Sam smiled. Not grinned or sneered or leered, just beamed at him like this was better than a candy store. “Because you asked so nicely,” he said, settling back against the window with his feet up on the seat. He smiled at John once more before shifting around on the leather and closing his eyes.
John felt the boy’s feet in his lap a moment later, but when he batted them away Sam sat up with a befuddled look that was all John’s boy.
“What’s going on?” he mumbled.
“You want food?” John asked him.
“Uh, not really.” He scrubbed at his face. “Must’ve dozed off.”
“Only for half an hour, don’t worry,” John told him. It took him more effort than it should have to reach over and ruffle Sam’s hair. “Go back to sleep, kiddo. I’ll wake you when we get there.”
Sam settled obediently against the window and closed his eyes again, just out of John’s reach and so far away.
+++
Dad kicked him out on some side street in front of the coroner’s building with the order to ‘find out anything out of the ordinary’. Sam allowed himself a quiet snicker once the man was out of earshot - man torn apart by werewolf, heart missing, nothing out of the ordinary here. He dealt with examining the body quickly and headed out to find the nearest bus stop when he suddenly found himself on a street he recognized.
There was the antiques store he had watched Jess ogle, and there was the café that had sent her into a rant of Starbucks VS. Peet’s VS. Coffee Bean. He swallowed heavily and turned on his heels, but no matter where he turned, he could suddenly see Jess everywhere. She was at the bus stop, giggling at her abysmal map reading skills; she was sitting on a bench, making him massage her feet because she had decided to wear her new shoes on the one day they would actually be walking places; she was giving all her change to a homeless kid.
Before he knew it, he was running down the street as fast as he could, shoes pounding on the asphalt, just running and running until he no longer recognized where he was, could no longer see her at every turn. Ignoring the stares from the people around him, he collapsed against a wall, breathing deeply until he no longer saw stars before his eyes.
He took his time wandering down to the waterfront park and sat down. He could see the fog rolling in over the hills, but the sky was still a dark blue overhead. A little boy was flying a kite with the help of his father. Sam briefly made the acquaintance of a manically happy dog before he was on his own again, alone with his miserable thoughts.
What was he doing? How had he gone from his perfect apple pie life to… to this? Jess would have wanted him to be happy, yes, but Sam was pretty sure she wouldn’t have imagined this. He was… with his father, of all things. He could almost see Jessica’s appalled expression and swallowed heavily.
He let his head drop into his hands when he realized that it didn’t matter. She was gone. Their life together was gone. He had been handed his happy ending on a silver platter and he had gambled it away. This… this was all he had left now. This was all he had.
+++
They met up in a bar not far from their motel. The place was dingy and run-down, no surprise there, and no one even blinked when John ordered two beers and took up a booth all by himself. Sam showed up a little while later with his shoulders hunched and his eyes fixed on the floor. He slid onto the bench across from John and took the bottle his father offered him without comment.
John waited for several long minutes but when Sam showed no sign of sharing, John nudged him with his foot. “You all right?” he asked quietly.
Sam looked up, startled, flushed and nodded. His hand settled on John’s thigh under the table. “Yeah,” he said with a shy smile. “I’m fine.”
John grinned to himself and focused on his beer, letting the chatter and loud music wash around him. He looked up when Sam suddenly drew his hand back like he had been burned and found a pretty little brunette standing at their table.
“Hi,” she said, flustered. “Look, I’m so sorry, but there’s this guy over there who keeps staring at me and it’s giving me the creeps. Would it be okay if I sat here for a while?”
“Sure,” Sam said, gesturing to the seat next to him. “Make yourself at home.”
She sank into the cushions with a nervous but pretty smile. “Thank you so much,” she said, clutching her beer bottle to her chest. “I’m Madison.”
John’s kid stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Sam.”
John took her hand next. “John.”
“Pleasure.” She glanced over her shoulder. “So, are you guys from around here?”
“We’re from all over,” Sam said. His warm smile was doing all kinds of unpleasant things to John’s stomach.
“What brought you to the city of flower children then?” she asked. “I doubt it’s the weather.”
John gave her what he hoped was a friendly smile. He was seriously out of practice when it came to socializing, and it really didn’t help that Sam was making goo-goo eyes at her. Get a grip, Winchester, he told himself sternly, Sam’s a kid and she’s a beautiful girl. Woman. What did you expect?
Sam laughed. “Hardly. It’s work, actually.”
“Oh really.” She folded her arms on the table and leaned closer, interest sparking in her eyes. “What do you do?”
Sam shrugged. “Oh, we just, we sell. Things.”
“You sell things,” she echoed.
“Yeah, you know. Stuff.”
“Stuff.”
Sam flushed scarlet at her snicker. John sighed.
“We offer to represent companies with the advertising firm we work for,” he said. He winked at her. “Sam’s new.”
Sam turned an even deeper shade of red, but at least he now had the perfect excuse to not have the slightest idea about advertising. And besides, anyone with eyes could see that his clueless look just made him all the more endearing to Madison.
John pushed himself upright. “Speaking of work, there’s that meeting tomorrow that I still need to prepare for. I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” he said to his kid, nodded a polite “Nice to meet you,” to the girl, and got the hell out of there.
+++
He was safely back in their motel room and halfway undressed before he allowed his bad mood to catch up with him. The last fucking thing he wanted to think about was Sam with some girl back in her apartment, kissing her soft and sweet, sneaking his hands under her bra, slow and tender and normal.
He shucked his jeans and found his way into bed in the dark. He pulled the comforter over his head to block out the yellowish light that filtered through the blinds from the street lamp outside and refused to think about the hard knot in his guts. He wasn’t supposed to be jealous. He wasn’t allowed to.
Sleep was a long time coming, but he still had to have dozed off at some point because he almost punched Sam in the face when his kid slid his arms around him from behind. He barely managed to hold off on the nose-breaking and pulled Sam closer to him instead. “You left the pretty girl all alone in a bar to crawl into bed with your old man?”
“You’re making me sound like a pervert,” Sam mumbled into his shoulder.
John laughed quietly, but that didn’t stop the warmth from spreading low in his belly.
+++
John shot the werewolf a few days later. He recognized her, of course, but he felt less bad about it than he probably should have.
+++
They were halfway to L.A. when Sam had another vision, babbling about Dean and the dead tree and that his brother was so much closer now, clawing at the window as if Dean was just on the other side. John pulled into the next motel he could find and hustled Sam into a room where he could ride out the pain in peace. It tore at his heart that he could do nothing but sit there and watch as Sam writhed across the sheets.
Even when Sam had finally calmed down, John still couldn’t shake the feeling that this was it, that this was when everything finally came together. He stood by the window, staring out at the stars, couldn’t even bring himself to turn on the light for fear of what he might see. He heard the sheets rustle when Sam sat up but didn’t turn around.
“You’re going to leave me.” Sam’s voice carried easily in the midnight silence, small and broken. “Aren’t you?”
John wanted to lean over and wrap him in a hug, hell, he knew that he should, but somehow he couldn’t get himself to move. Couldn’t even make himself turn to face his kid. “Why would I leave you, Sammy?” he croaked.
Sam heaved a sigh. “Everybody leaves me.”
John could hear the soft rustle as long fingers mapped out patterns on the sheets.
“Dean, and Jess, and Mom...”
The choked sob that followed the quiet words cut deep into John’s chest. “No, no,” he said as he turned and gathered his son into his arms. “I’m not leaving you, not ever. We’re Winchesters, remember? We don’t do leaving.”
“Then why did Dean die?” Sam asked, wet face pressed awkwardly into John’s neck.
There was no answer for that, John knew. So did Sam.
“I don’t know the plan,” John said anyway. “I don’t know the point of it all.”
Sam didn’t say anything, but his heavy weight on John’s chest still made him feel like he should, somehow.
+++
Chapter XI
Feedback is much appreciated, as always.
Rating: R
Pairing: Sam/John
Word Count: ~3,850
Disclaimer: Lies, Theft and Deceit.
Warnings: Daddycest. AU beyond belief.
Spoilers: Devil's Trap and beyond.
Summary: The boys face love and loss.
Part I
Part IX
+++
Mockingbird
Chapter X
+++
To help you count those little white sheep,
And sing you songs 'til you're asleep.
+++
Golden sunlight fell in stripes through the blinds, painting lines on the carpeting, the covers and the lumps underneath them. John watched the dust particles float through the air, lifted his hand to see them spiral through his fingers. Sam slept - for once! - peacefully pressed against his side, fingers hooked into the chain holding his dog tags. He snuffled softly in his sleep and shifted away, almost suffocating John. John slid down and fumbled for the clasp behind his neck, freeing himself and leaving Sam holding the metal plates.
Sam pulled his head away. John froze, but the kid only resettled and sniffed. John was tempted to lean over and brush the ever-growing hair from his face, but before he could actually work up the nerve to do it, the shrill blaring of his cell-phone had him jerking up in alarm.
He fumbled it from the bedside table, glanced at the display - Bobby - and flipped it open. “What?” he whispered.
He could almost see the confusion on Bobby’s face. ”M’I interrupting something?”
John shook his head, knowing the man would be able to tell from his tone. “Nah. Just don’t want you waking the kid.”
”What, I’m endangering your break from the fighting?” Bobby asked, sounding half annoyed and half amused at John’s antics, as usual.
John transferred the phone to his other ear as he glanced down at the boy asleep next to him, bare body sunk into the mattress in a kind of boneless grace. “Actually, we’re kind of getting along,” he said softly as he slid his legs out from under the covers, heading for the door.
“My.” Bobby’s voice was dry. “Hell froze over and no one gave me a memo.”
John scowled at the phone in his hand as he eased the patio door shut behind him. The air on the bare legs protruding from his boxers was cool but not uncomfortable, and he could actually feel himself smiling as he leaned one hand against the railing.
“I guess we’re just both really trying to make this work,” he admitted quietly.
“I’m shocked,” Bobby snickered, but before John could throw a tart reply at him, he sobered up. “Listen, John, there’ s something I gotta talk to you about.”
Usually, those words would have sent John into a state of total alarm, but Bobby was not one to try and talk about feelings, and the only person John had left to lose - and didn’t that just twist his heart - was fast asleep inside a protective ring of salt. “Must be bad if you’re giving me a warning,” he said. His dry tone almost masked his apprehension.
“You’re not gonna like it,” Bobby warned him.
John rolled his eyes. “Tell me anyway.”
There was a slight pause before Bobby finally said, “It’s about your car.”
John frowned as his heart quickened. “What about it?”
His friend sighed. “There was this broker fella here earlier, looking at vintage cars. Apparently quite the Chevrolet fanatic, and he’s still missing a ’65. Said he’d pay good money for it even though it’d be smarter to sell the thing for scrap.”
Bobby was right, John didn’t like it. He was fond of the Impala, yes, she’d been his beauty for more years than he cared to admit, but that wasn’t even really the issue. It wasn’t that she was his beauty. She was Dean’s. That was all there was to it. No corporate tool was getting his hands on her.
“Forget it,” he said brusquely.
“John-“
He shook his head. “No.”
He could hear Bobby sigh. “Look, John, I know you’re attached, believe me, but truth is, the kid’s not coming back. You can’t just leave ‘er here forever.”
“Why not? You have dozens of cars in your yard that you haven’t even looked at in years. What’s one more gonna do?”
“God, Winchester, you’re just…”
“Is there anything else you want?” John demanded.
Bobby was annoyed, he could tell, but he finally let it go. “I’ll call you if I have a hunt for you.”
“Yeah,” John said, ready to end this entire disaster of a conversation, but of course Bobby had to have the last word.
“Just… Think about it.”
John rolled his eyes and hung up without saying anything.
+++
Sam blinked open dark eyes when John crawled back under the covers. His lips curved into a slow smile.
“Oh no,” John protested, lifting a finger. “No kissing until you’ve brushed your teeth.”
Sam snorted, half indignantly and half amused, and pushed up against John, nestling against his side. “Whatever,” he yawned. “S’fine here.”
He nuzzled John’s ribs sleepily, mouthing a scar on his side until John couldn’t bear the soft tickling anymore and pulled him off.
“No sex until you’ve brushed your teeth, either,” he emphasized again.
Sam rolled his eyes. “Yes, Dad,” he said without any heat.
“You do realize that would only be offensive if I wasn’t actually your father,” John told him, amused.
Sam just rolled his eyes again and poked John in the side. “Thanks for reminding me.”
John grabbed Sam’s finger before he could jab it between his ribs again. “Would you stop?” he asked but he was laughing.
Sam grinned back at him and pointed at the spot he had just tormented. “Did you get stitches here? It looks like it was pretty bad.”
John frowned and craned his neck to find a scar right where his son had his free hand. “Uh, a poltergeist, I think,” he said, scratching his head. “Something pretty routine. Boring.” He let go of Sam’s hands and watched the boy slide his hands over John’s skin like he was mapping out the route to some unknown treasure.
“What about this one?” he asked, brushing one of the scars marking his chest lightly with his fingertips, smiling when John squirmed away because the feathery touch tickled.
John snatched the hand with his own, holding it still so he could concentrate. “Okay, okay, enough. I have no idea where that scar came from.”
Sam blinked. “You don’t know? It’s a hole in your body! How can you not know?”
“I have ‘holes’ all over my body, Sam,” John exclaimed, exasperated. “You really think I remember them all?”
“I do,” Sam told him. He looked like he was about to pout.
“You what?”
“Remember all my scars.”
“You do not.”
“Do too,” Sam snapped, sulking now.
“Are you trying to tell me,” John asked incredulously, “that you remember the story behind every single one of your scars?”
”Uh huh,” Sam confirmed, his eyes wide and curious. “Wanna bet?”
John raised an eyebrow in reply. He flipped the covers back, catching Sam’s wrist when the boy squawked and tried to pull them back up, and pointed at one of the thinner white lines on his son’s torso. “Fine. Where’s that one from?”
Sam looked down his body. His brows furrowed in concentration. “Uh. That was ‘Don’t try to take on a poltergeist with a faulty rifle’,” he said, shuddering with the memory.
John winced with him. He let go of the boy’s arm to run both hands up and down his body, turning his limbs to look at them from every angle, exploring every cut and blemish on the boy’s skin. He finally found one that intrigued him; a short, jagged one running along the underside of Sam’s upper arm, healed cleanly like it had been patched up in a hospital.
“And this one?” he asked, running his thumb over the skin there.
Sam craned his neck to look at it.“That one was ‘Don’t face a ghoul, ever’,” he said, making a face.
John chuckled low in his chest, reaching over to tap a particularly nasty one on Sam’s lower side. “And that?”
To his surprise, a bright flush crept over Sam’s cheeks and he draped his arm over his eyes as if to hide himself from the world. “That would be ‘Awesome books and rickety staircases don’t go together’,” he mumbled against his skin.
John frowned as an image floated by, unbidden, of blood splattered steps and a near-crying Dean cradling his brother’s head in his lap. “You never told me you had been reading.”
The warning tone came all by itself and Sam pressed himself deeper into the mattress. “I know,” he said, guilt painting his skin this time. “I’m sorry, I am.”
John reached over, pushing the arm away from Sam’s face, taking in the wide, pleading eyes. “I remember you kept saying that. We could never quite figure out why.”
“I’m going to the bathroom,” Sam said and sat up.
John caught him and pulled him back by his shoulders. “Like hell you are.”
Sam gave him a pleading look. “Look, Dad, just let it go, okay? It was ten years ago, it-“ and whatever he was going to say next was forgotten when he let out a sharp cry and toppled off the side of the bed, clutching his head.
John was across the mattress and at his side in a heartbeat, hauling his son upright and cradling him against his chest. He held Sam tightly until the gasping eased and his son loosened his death grip on John’s arm.
He looked around, disoriented, and blinked. “I’ma go get cleaned up,” he mumbled and pushed himself upright. He had stumbled halfway to the bathroom when John finally managed to pull himself together.
“Did you see anything?” he called.
Sam froze dead in his tracks, but when he turned around after a long moment, there was a smile pasted on his face. “Nah,” he said, “It was nothing. Just a couple of stars.”
John nodded and let him go without a word, despite the lie he could see in his eyes.
+++
Sam wasn’t sure what to say when, early one morning in a diner just outside Duluth, Minnesota, Dad put down the paper and announced, “We should go to San Francisco.”
He blinked once, swallowed, swallowed again, and blinked once more. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Why?”
“Werewolf,” his father said simply, like that was all there was to it. He didn’t say anything else, but he was watching Sam closely, his eyes dark and unreadable.
It took Sam a moment to remember that Dad knew about Jess, that Dad knew everything, and he nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said.
Dad blinked at him, surprised, but he just nodded like he wasn’t going to push his luck and signaled for the check.
+++
They were somewhere on route 41; the truck, quietly purring, eating up gas and miles alike. The last rays of sunlight were casting long shadows across the road. John glanced over at Sam where he was dozing against the passenger side window and lowered the volume on the radio. He spotted a sign for a roadside diner and frowned, unsure if he wanted to avoid Sam’s post-nap crankiness by letting him sleep or if that would just make it worse later when his son woke up hungry.
“Sam,” he said, raising his voice only a little.
“Yes, Daddy?”
John moved so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash when he turned his head to look at the boy. “You!” he hissed.
Sam, not his gigantic little boy Sam but that seductive monster that took over his body sometimes, winked at him. “Something I can do for you, Daddy?”
John thumped the steering wheel in frustration. “You can leave my kid the hell alone, for starters.”
“But I am your kid,” the creature protested with its eyes wide and innocent. “Don’t you recognize me? You should know this face pretty well by now, considering what you and your little boy get up to at night.”
John’s glare didn’t really help ease the nausea that was building up in his stomach. “That’s none of your business.”
Sam blinked dark eyes at him and grinned. “Bet you’re just kicking yourself now, aren’t you, Daddy? So many beautiful, carefree years you could have had with your resident fuck-toy, and instead you went chasing after ugly monsters. Not that they didn’t want a piece of you, but, you know - it’s not quite the same.”
“You need to shut the hell up,” John said, pointing a stern finger at his not-son.
“Yes, Daddy,” Sam said demurely. Before John had a chance to recover from the sudden change of behavior, he had already reached over and groped John with a wicked grin.
John batted his hand away. “What are you doing?”
“Shutting up,” Sam told him with a wink and reached between John’s legs again.
John shoved his hand away and wrenched the truck back into the right lane when it careened all over the road. Someone honked behind him but John ignored it. “Knock it off,” he snarled at the creature next to him.
Sam smiled. Not grinned or sneered or leered, just beamed at him like this was better than a candy store. “Because you asked so nicely,” he said, settling back against the window with his feet up on the seat. He smiled at John once more before shifting around on the leather and closing his eyes.
John felt the boy’s feet in his lap a moment later, but when he batted them away Sam sat up with a befuddled look that was all John’s boy.
“What’s going on?” he mumbled.
“You want food?” John asked him.
“Uh, not really.” He scrubbed at his face. “Must’ve dozed off.”
“Only for half an hour, don’t worry,” John told him. It took him more effort than it should have to reach over and ruffle Sam’s hair. “Go back to sleep, kiddo. I’ll wake you when we get there.”
Sam settled obediently against the window and closed his eyes again, just out of John’s reach and so far away.
+++
Dad kicked him out on some side street in front of the coroner’s building with the order to ‘find out anything out of the ordinary’. Sam allowed himself a quiet snicker once the man was out of earshot - man torn apart by werewolf, heart missing, nothing out of the ordinary here. He dealt with examining the body quickly and headed out to find the nearest bus stop when he suddenly found himself on a street he recognized.
There was the antiques store he had watched Jess ogle, and there was the café that had sent her into a rant of Starbucks VS. Peet’s VS. Coffee Bean. He swallowed heavily and turned on his heels, but no matter where he turned, he could suddenly see Jess everywhere. She was at the bus stop, giggling at her abysmal map reading skills; she was sitting on a bench, making him massage her feet because she had decided to wear her new shoes on the one day they would actually be walking places; she was giving all her change to a homeless kid.
Before he knew it, he was running down the street as fast as he could, shoes pounding on the asphalt, just running and running until he no longer recognized where he was, could no longer see her at every turn. Ignoring the stares from the people around him, he collapsed against a wall, breathing deeply until he no longer saw stars before his eyes.
He took his time wandering down to the waterfront park and sat down. He could see the fog rolling in over the hills, but the sky was still a dark blue overhead. A little boy was flying a kite with the help of his father. Sam briefly made the acquaintance of a manically happy dog before he was on his own again, alone with his miserable thoughts.
What was he doing? How had he gone from his perfect apple pie life to… to this? Jess would have wanted him to be happy, yes, but Sam was pretty sure she wouldn’t have imagined this. He was… with his father, of all things. He could almost see Jessica’s appalled expression and swallowed heavily.
He let his head drop into his hands when he realized that it didn’t matter. She was gone. Their life together was gone. He had been handed his happy ending on a silver platter and he had gambled it away. This… this was all he had left now. This was all he had.
+++
They met up in a bar not far from their motel. The place was dingy and run-down, no surprise there, and no one even blinked when John ordered two beers and took up a booth all by himself. Sam showed up a little while later with his shoulders hunched and his eyes fixed on the floor. He slid onto the bench across from John and took the bottle his father offered him without comment.
John waited for several long minutes but when Sam showed no sign of sharing, John nudged him with his foot. “You all right?” he asked quietly.
Sam looked up, startled, flushed and nodded. His hand settled on John’s thigh under the table. “Yeah,” he said with a shy smile. “I’m fine.”
John grinned to himself and focused on his beer, letting the chatter and loud music wash around him. He looked up when Sam suddenly drew his hand back like he had been burned and found a pretty little brunette standing at their table.
“Hi,” she said, flustered. “Look, I’m so sorry, but there’s this guy over there who keeps staring at me and it’s giving me the creeps. Would it be okay if I sat here for a while?”
“Sure,” Sam said, gesturing to the seat next to him. “Make yourself at home.”
She sank into the cushions with a nervous but pretty smile. “Thank you so much,” she said, clutching her beer bottle to her chest. “I’m Madison.”
John’s kid stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Sam.”
John took her hand next. “John.”
“Pleasure.” She glanced over her shoulder. “So, are you guys from around here?”
“We’re from all over,” Sam said. His warm smile was doing all kinds of unpleasant things to John’s stomach.
“What brought you to the city of flower children then?” she asked. “I doubt it’s the weather.”
John gave her what he hoped was a friendly smile. He was seriously out of practice when it came to socializing, and it really didn’t help that Sam was making goo-goo eyes at her. Get a grip, Winchester, he told himself sternly, Sam’s a kid and she’s a beautiful girl. Woman. What did you expect?
Sam laughed. “Hardly. It’s work, actually.”
“Oh really.” She folded her arms on the table and leaned closer, interest sparking in her eyes. “What do you do?”
Sam shrugged. “Oh, we just, we sell. Things.”
“You sell things,” she echoed.
“Yeah, you know. Stuff.”
“Stuff.”
Sam flushed scarlet at her snicker. John sighed.
“We offer to represent companies with the advertising firm we work for,” he said. He winked at her. “Sam’s new.”
Sam turned an even deeper shade of red, but at least he now had the perfect excuse to not have the slightest idea about advertising. And besides, anyone with eyes could see that his clueless look just made him all the more endearing to Madison.
John pushed himself upright. “Speaking of work, there’s that meeting tomorrow that I still need to prepare for. I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” he said to his kid, nodded a polite “Nice to meet you,” to the girl, and got the hell out of there.
+++
He was safely back in their motel room and halfway undressed before he allowed his bad mood to catch up with him. The last fucking thing he wanted to think about was Sam with some girl back in her apartment, kissing her soft and sweet, sneaking his hands under her bra, slow and tender and normal.
He shucked his jeans and found his way into bed in the dark. He pulled the comforter over his head to block out the yellowish light that filtered through the blinds from the street lamp outside and refused to think about the hard knot in his guts. He wasn’t supposed to be jealous. He wasn’t allowed to.
Sleep was a long time coming, but he still had to have dozed off at some point because he almost punched Sam in the face when his kid slid his arms around him from behind. He barely managed to hold off on the nose-breaking and pulled Sam closer to him instead. “You left the pretty girl all alone in a bar to crawl into bed with your old man?”
“You’re making me sound like a pervert,” Sam mumbled into his shoulder.
John laughed quietly, but that didn’t stop the warmth from spreading low in his belly.
+++
John shot the werewolf a few days later. He recognized her, of course, but he felt less bad about it than he probably should have.
+++
They were halfway to L.A. when Sam had another vision, babbling about Dean and the dead tree and that his brother was so much closer now, clawing at the window as if Dean was just on the other side. John pulled into the next motel he could find and hustled Sam into a room where he could ride out the pain in peace. It tore at his heart that he could do nothing but sit there and watch as Sam writhed across the sheets.
Even when Sam had finally calmed down, John still couldn’t shake the feeling that this was it, that this was when everything finally came together. He stood by the window, staring out at the stars, couldn’t even bring himself to turn on the light for fear of what he might see. He heard the sheets rustle when Sam sat up but didn’t turn around.
“You’re going to leave me.” Sam’s voice carried easily in the midnight silence, small and broken. “Aren’t you?”
John wanted to lean over and wrap him in a hug, hell, he knew that he should, but somehow he couldn’t get himself to move. Couldn’t even make himself turn to face his kid. “Why would I leave you, Sammy?” he croaked.
Sam heaved a sigh. “Everybody leaves me.”
John could hear the soft rustle as long fingers mapped out patterns on the sheets.
“Dean, and Jess, and Mom...”
The choked sob that followed the quiet words cut deep into John’s chest. “No, no,” he said as he turned and gathered his son into his arms. “I’m not leaving you, not ever. We’re Winchesters, remember? We don’t do leaving.”
“Then why did Dean die?” Sam asked, wet face pressed awkwardly into John’s neck.
There was no answer for that, John knew. So did Sam.
“I don’t know the plan,” John said anyway. “I don’t know the point of it all.”
Sam didn’t say anything, but his heavy weight on John’s chest still made him feel like he should, somehow.
+++
Chapter XI
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