Mockingbird [4/?]
I'm still alive!I don't even want to know about the dozens of fics and posts I missed, but I'm back. And I'll hopefully stay, too.^^
While I'm at it, check out this little beauty which lives down the road from my apartment. I only ever noticed 'er 'cause there was a storm that blew off the hood. She was back to primly covered a couple of hours after I took these pics and has been ever since, but I still stare at the grill longingly.^^
BTW, if anyone wants to beta an AU short, drop me a line. You'd have my eternal gratitude, assuming I'll ever get it finished. >.>
--> On to fic
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Sam/John
Word Count: ~1,900
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warnings: Wincest! Spankings! Character Death! Sex! You know, the usual.
Spoilers: Devil's Trap and beyond
Summary: John and Sam encounter an old/new acquaintance, and of course they butt heads.
Part I
Part III
Mockingbird
Chapter IV
+++
The rhythmic squeaking of the bed adjoining his was the first thing to penetrate Sam’s semi-consciousness. He groaned, burying his head deeper in the crook of his elbow. If Dean had brought some chick into their room to screw with while Sam was sleeping (again), he was going to kill him. Slowly. And he’d find a way to involve some fucking pie.
The steady squeak squeak squeak continued, a perfect rhythm, until even Sam’s arm didn’t offer protection anymore. He rolled around and into an upright position, ready to insult Dean in the most colorful ways he could think of -
And met his father’s slightly irritated look from where the man was hanging of the bed, fully dressed, doing those show-off one-armed push-ups.
Right. About that.
Sam bowed his head a little to keep from screaming as his father climbed to his feet, giving him a measured look.
“You okay?” he asked, a stern frown drawing his eyebrows together.
Fine. Perfect. Just peachy.
He started when John snapped his fingers sharply in front of his face.
“Hey,” he growled, “talk.”
“Yeah,” Sam indulged him with a scowl.
He found himself on the receiving end of a long, measured look before John discarded the ‘concerned Dad’-face and returned to the military bluntness that made Sam’s spine stiffen all on its own.
“Good. Get dressed. We’ll be out of here in fifteen minutes.”
Sam gave him a tight, sour smile as he gathered up his discarded clothes from the day before and headed to the bathroom, feeling ten years younger and half a millennia older and hating it both.
+++
John was - most of the time - aware he was slightly paranoid. Really. There were no hunters that didn’t check the closet for monsters at least three times before closing their eyes; or if there were, they didn’t last very long. Even Dean, who was considered fairly sane by hunter standards, slept - had slept - with a knife under his pillow since before he hit puberty.
It was that same paranoia that had John spinning around in front of the bar to face the man half-hidden in the shadows. He brought one arm up to guard Sam’s wide open side, giving the figure a low growl.
“You tryin’ to sneak up on me?” he hissed, feeling Sam finally tense up next to him, the fingers squashed between their ribs wriggling slightly as the boy felt for his blade.
“Relax.”
The voice was soft and smooth as the man stepped forward, hands raised to say I’m not armed, I’m not a threat. A small smirk played around his lips, white teeth contrasting sharply against dark skin, and John recognized him.
“Walker,” he said, curt. He’d met him a few years ago, back when his boys were still teenagers. Damned good hunter, but of the sort he hoped to avoid as much as possible. He had no use for Walker’s ability to piece things together, not with Sam in tow.
“John,” Walker said with an airy wave, like they were old friends and not just random acquaintances in the same profession. He forced a smile. Hardly anybody called him ‘John’ these days.
“That your boy?”
John glanced over his shoulder at Sam who gave him a look, brows drawn together. There was a question in his son’s eyes, though he knew better than to voice it in front of a stranger. A dangerous stranger.
He hadn’t even been aware he’d been shielding Sam with his arm, standing slightly in front of him, like someone of Sam’s proportions could actually disappear from view.
“Yeah,” he grunted, “Sam, Gordon Walker.”
Sam gave a smile, still all wrinkled brows and confusion, while Walker nodded.
“Heard about your other kid. I’m sorry.”
John raised a brow at him.
“That fang yours?”
Walker nodded.
“Yeah. That farm’s a bust, by the way. Just a bunch of hippies.”
John gave him a stare, trying to figure out the hunter that was Gordon Walker. How much had he heard, how much did he know? Would John have to kill him?
“You know where they are?”
He kept his tone light, informal. Some guys got pretty itchy if they thought you were intruding on their hunt, and he didn’t want a fight, not right now.
But then John had wanted a lot of things, and the only wish that had been granted was Sam, twitchy against his side.
But Walker just smiled again, friendly and harmless and completely unreadable.
“I think I have their location pretty much narrowed down. Would you like to join me? It would be an honor.”
“I don’t do partners,” John said. He met Walker’s raised eyebrow with an even stare, hoping his tone was rude enough to dissuade the other hunter from his idea.
But no, Walker just smiled.
“Come on, John. Two old pros. It’ll be fun.”
John let his arm sink slowly against his side, covering Sam’s fingers and the blade hidden among them with his own in a light warning, a little bit of reassurance.
It wasn’t like he wasn’t tempted. He hadn’t killed anything since... since the hospital, and damn, he was itching to get his hands on something right now. Anything, just to get that sour taste out of his mouth, only for a minute. If he could get rid of some evil son of a bitch while he was at it, good. Better, but not strictly necessary.
“Fine,” he growled, “You got fifteen minutes. Sam, I’ll meet you back in the room.”
Sam didn’t move, just turned his head to give him a look that had John’s hand itching to smack it off his face.
Still better than no reaction at all, he reminded himself forcefully.
He raised an eyebrow.
“Sam.”
Sam gave him the pissy teenager look, slightly disbelieving, mostly stubborn, which John met with a death glare of his own. Family first, arguments second. The boy knew that.
So he went, spinning around on his heel and stalking away, his shoulders hunched forward and his boots dragging across the gravel.
“Trouble with subordination?” Walker asked lightly.
John didn’t smile. He didn’t want Walker thinking about Sam, and he didn’t want Walker looking at Sam. He wanted to kill some sons of bitches and then he wanted Walker out of his life.
He also wanted his Mary alive and his brave little soldier back.
More than anything, he wanted Dean back.
+++
Sam was still perched on the edge of his bed when John returned several hours, beers and a plan later. He jumped to his feet the second John had wrestled the rusty key into the lock. John suppressed a sigh. He needed a shower, and a drink, and some dead vampires. He did not need or want Sam’s moods right now.
“Sam, sit your ass back down,” he said curtly. He should have known it was only going to egg the boy on. “You’ll be here ‘till I come back to get you, so you might as well get comfortable.”
“Fuck that,” Sam said, sounding almost disbelieving, “I’m coming with you.”
“No, you’re not.”
Sam rolled his eyes at him, tone growing more and more annoyed.
“It’s a hunt, Dad. It’s not like I’ve never been on one. Hell, it’s not even like I’ve never hunted vampires before.”
John gave him a stare as he felt his own temper rear its ugly head. He kept himself in check, letting his voice drop to dangerously low.
“I said no, Sam, and that’s final.”
“I don’t understand, Dad,” Sam snapped, “Why not?”
“Because Walker would drop you in a heartbeat if he knew what you are!”
Deadly silence settled between them. John could see Sam trembling from adrenaline and rage, his hands tightening into fists before slowly stretching again. His eyes rested on the ground somewhere halfway between them, his face carefully blank.
“What I am?” he asked, too calm, too in control for someone who was shaking like that.
“And what am I, Dad?”
John sighed, swallowed, shook his head. Sam stared at him for a moment.
“Aren’t you even going to answer me?”
John shook his head again.
“So you’re not going to tell me.”
“No. You don’t need to know.”
Sam arched an eyebrow haughtily.
“Well this isn’t just one of your schemes, Dad,” he spat, “This isn’t just some hunt. This is me we’re talking about.”
He was still shaking- scared and confused and hurting. John had to swallow, had to fight the urge to cradle his boy to his chest and hug him tight.
“Please believe me, Sammy, okay? You don’t need to know.”
It only seemed to make Sam angrier as he threw his hands up in exasperation.
“Of course I don’t need to know. It’s only me and my weirdo visions, let’s just chill out ‘cause John Winchester’s got it all covered. John Winchester has a plan. Yeah, well, fuck you and your need-to-know basis!”
John rolled his eyes.
“Okay, is that the end of your hissy fit? You done now?”
He ignored Sam’s glower.
“Then you sit your ass back down, because you’re not going anywhere.”
His son merely jutted his jaw out farther.
“You can’t make me,” he snapped, folding his arms in front of his chest.
His father only chuckled darkly.
“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
Before Sam could open his mouth, could even think up a witty reply, his father was suddenly up in his space. Sam stumbled back a step, losing some of his defiant pose.
“What do you mean?”
John took another step. Sam -out of habit - hastily dropped his hands at his sides.
“Oh Sammy,” Dad whispered, voice low in his throat, “I’m sure I can think up a thing or two to... convince you to be a good little boy for once.”
Sam was dimly aware that he ought to be enraged at being called a little boy - because wasn’t this exactly what his relationship with his father always summed up to? - but he couldn’t quite work up the fitting feeling. His mouth was dry all of a sudden; he could smell his father mere inches away from his face, could see every stubbled hair on his cheeks and the lighter flecks of golden brown in his dark eyes. Could smell sweat and leather and Dad, beer and gasoline, the salty burn of smoke and gunpowder.
He swallowed heavily.
“W-what?” he squeaked out, “What ‘ways’?”
He tried to look away but those rough lips were suddenly right in his face as Dad took another step forward.
“You heard me, boy.”
Another step, and a soft clink as Sam backed into the bedpost.
“I can figure out a few ways to keep disobedient little boys in line.”
Sam knew something was off, was wrong with the way his father said it but he couldn’t pinpoint it exactly until he felt smooth metal closing in on his wrist. He snapped his eyes open, tried to jerk away but John had already secured the handcuffs around the bedpost.
“Hey!” he complained as he gave the metal a sharp tug.
His father stepped away, satisfied when neither the cuffs nor the bed would budge. He snatched his journal away from the bedside table, tossing it onto the dresser with ease.
“You’re staying,” he said again from the door, brushing off the string of curses Sam sent after him with a wave of his hand.
+++
Chapter V
~
Let me know what you think!
While I'm at it, check out this little beauty which lives down the road from my apartment. I only ever noticed 'er 'cause there was a storm that blew off the hood. She was back to primly covered a couple of hours after I took these pics and has been ever since, but I still stare at the grill longingly.^^
BTW, if anyone wants to beta an AU short, drop me a line. You'd have my eternal gratitude, assuming I'll ever get it finished. >.>
--> On to fic
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Sam/John
Word Count: ~1,900
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warnings: Wincest! Spankings! Character Death! Sex! You know, the usual.
Spoilers: Devil's Trap and beyond
Summary: John and Sam encounter an old/new acquaintance, and of course they butt heads.
Part I
Part III
Mockingbird
Chapter IV
+++
The rhythmic squeaking of the bed adjoining his was the first thing to penetrate Sam’s semi-consciousness. He groaned, burying his head deeper in the crook of his elbow. If Dean had brought some chick into their room to screw with while Sam was sleeping (again), he was going to kill him. Slowly. And he’d find a way to involve some fucking pie.
The steady squeak squeak squeak continued, a perfect rhythm, until even Sam’s arm didn’t offer protection anymore. He rolled around and into an upright position, ready to insult Dean in the most colorful ways he could think of -
And met his father’s slightly irritated look from where the man was hanging of the bed, fully dressed, doing those show-off one-armed push-ups.
Right. About that.
Sam bowed his head a little to keep from screaming as his father climbed to his feet, giving him a measured look.
“You okay?” he asked, a stern frown drawing his eyebrows together.
Fine. Perfect. Just peachy.
He started when John snapped his fingers sharply in front of his face.
“Hey,” he growled, “talk.”
“Yeah,” Sam indulged him with a scowl.
He found himself on the receiving end of a long, measured look before John discarded the ‘concerned Dad’-face and returned to the military bluntness that made Sam’s spine stiffen all on its own.
“Good. Get dressed. We’ll be out of here in fifteen minutes.”
Sam gave him a tight, sour smile as he gathered up his discarded clothes from the day before and headed to the bathroom, feeling ten years younger and half a millennia older and hating it both.
+++
John was - most of the time - aware he was slightly paranoid. Really. There were no hunters that didn’t check the closet for monsters at least three times before closing their eyes; or if there were, they didn’t last very long. Even Dean, who was considered fairly sane by hunter standards, slept - had slept - with a knife under his pillow since before he hit puberty.
It was that same paranoia that had John spinning around in front of the bar to face the man half-hidden in the shadows. He brought one arm up to guard Sam’s wide open side, giving the figure a low growl.
“You tryin’ to sneak up on me?” he hissed, feeling Sam finally tense up next to him, the fingers squashed between their ribs wriggling slightly as the boy felt for his blade.
“Relax.”
The voice was soft and smooth as the man stepped forward, hands raised to say I’m not armed, I’m not a threat. A small smirk played around his lips, white teeth contrasting sharply against dark skin, and John recognized him.
“Walker,” he said, curt. He’d met him a few years ago, back when his boys were still teenagers. Damned good hunter, but of the sort he hoped to avoid as much as possible. He had no use for Walker’s ability to piece things together, not with Sam in tow.
“John,” Walker said with an airy wave, like they were old friends and not just random acquaintances in the same profession. He forced a smile. Hardly anybody called him ‘John’ these days.
“That your boy?”
John glanced over his shoulder at Sam who gave him a look, brows drawn together. There was a question in his son’s eyes, though he knew better than to voice it in front of a stranger. A dangerous stranger.
He hadn’t even been aware he’d been shielding Sam with his arm, standing slightly in front of him, like someone of Sam’s proportions could actually disappear from view.
“Yeah,” he grunted, “Sam, Gordon Walker.”
Sam gave a smile, still all wrinkled brows and confusion, while Walker nodded.
“Heard about your other kid. I’m sorry.”
John raised a brow at him.
“That fang yours?”
Walker nodded.
“Yeah. That farm’s a bust, by the way. Just a bunch of hippies.”
John gave him a stare, trying to figure out the hunter that was Gordon Walker. How much had he heard, how much did he know? Would John have to kill him?
“You know where they are?”
He kept his tone light, informal. Some guys got pretty itchy if they thought you were intruding on their hunt, and he didn’t want a fight, not right now.
But then John had wanted a lot of things, and the only wish that had been granted was Sam, twitchy against his side.
But Walker just smiled again, friendly and harmless and completely unreadable.
“I think I have their location pretty much narrowed down. Would you like to join me? It would be an honor.”
“I don’t do partners,” John said. He met Walker’s raised eyebrow with an even stare, hoping his tone was rude enough to dissuade the other hunter from his idea.
But no, Walker just smiled.
“Come on, John. Two old pros. It’ll be fun.”
John let his arm sink slowly against his side, covering Sam’s fingers and the blade hidden among them with his own in a light warning, a little bit of reassurance.
It wasn’t like he wasn’t tempted. He hadn’t killed anything since... since the hospital, and damn, he was itching to get his hands on something right now. Anything, just to get that sour taste out of his mouth, only for a minute. If he could get rid of some evil son of a bitch while he was at it, good. Better, but not strictly necessary.
“Fine,” he growled, “You got fifteen minutes. Sam, I’ll meet you back in the room.”
Sam didn’t move, just turned his head to give him a look that had John’s hand itching to smack it off his face.
Still better than no reaction at all, he reminded himself forcefully.
He raised an eyebrow.
“Sam.”
Sam gave him the pissy teenager look, slightly disbelieving, mostly stubborn, which John met with a death glare of his own. Family first, arguments second. The boy knew that.
So he went, spinning around on his heel and stalking away, his shoulders hunched forward and his boots dragging across the gravel.
“Trouble with subordination?” Walker asked lightly.
John didn’t smile. He didn’t want Walker thinking about Sam, and he didn’t want Walker looking at Sam. He wanted to kill some sons of bitches and then he wanted Walker out of his life.
He also wanted his Mary alive and his brave little soldier back.
More than anything, he wanted Dean back.
+++
Sam was still perched on the edge of his bed when John returned several hours, beers and a plan later. He jumped to his feet the second John had wrestled the rusty key into the lock. John suppressed a sigh. He needed a shower, and a drink, and some dead vampires. He did not need or want Sam’s moods right now.
“Sam, sit your ass back down,” he said curtly. He should have known it was only going to egg the boy on. “You’ll be here ‘till I come back to get you, so you might as well get comfortable.”
“Fuck that,” Sam said, sounding almost disbelieving, “I’m coming with you.”
“No, you’re not.”
Sam rolled his eyes at him, tone growing more and more annoyed.
“It’s a hunt, Dad. It’s not like I’ve never been on one. Hell, it’s not even like I’ve never hunted vampires before.”
John gave him a stare as he felt his own temper rear its ugly head. He kept himself in check, letting his voice drop to dangerously low.
“I said no, Sam, and that’s final.”
“I don’t understand, Dad,” Sam snapped, “Why not?”
“Because Walker would drop you in a heartbeat if he knew what you are!”
Deadly silence settled between them. John could see Sam trembling from adrenaline and rage, his hands tightening into fists before slowly stretching again. His eyes rested on the ground somewhere halfway between them, his face carefully blank.
“What I am?” he asked, too calm, too in control for someone who was shaking like that.
“And what am I, Dad?”
John sighed, swallowed, shook his head. Sam stared at him for a moment.
“Aren’t you even going to answer me?”
John shook his head again.
“So you’re not going to tell me.”
“No. You don’t need to know.”
Sam arched an eyebrow haughtily.
“Well this isn’t just one of your schemes, Dad,” he spat, “This isn’t just some hunt. This is me we’re talking about.”
He was still shaking- scared and confused and hurting. John had to swallow, had to fight the urge to cradle his boy to his chest and hug him tight.
“Please believe me, Sammy, okay? You don’t need to know.”
It only seemed to make Sam angrier as he threw his hands up in exasperation.
“Of course I don’t need to know. It’s only me and my weirdo visions, let’s just chill out ‘cause John Winchester’s got it all covered. John Winchester has a plan. Yeah, well, fuck you and your need-to-know basis!”
John rolled his eyes.
“Okay, is that the end of your hissy fit? You done now?”
He ignored Sam’s glower.
“Then you sit your ass back down, because you’re not going anywhere.”
His son merely jutted his jaw out farther.
“You can’t make me,” he snapped, folding his arms in front of his chest.
His father only chuckled darkly.
“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
Before Sam could open his mouth, could even think up a witty reply, his father was suddenly up in his space. Sam stumbled back a step, losing some of his defiant pose.
“What do you mean?”
John took another step. Sam -out of habit - hastily dropped his hands at his sides.
“Oh Sammy,” Dad whispered, voice low in his throat, “I’m sure I can think up a thing or two to... convince you to be a good little boy for once.”
Sam was dimly aware that he ought to be enraged at being called a little boy - because wasn’t this exactly what his relationship with his father always summed up to? - but he couldn’t quite work up the fitting feeling. His mouth was dry all of a sudden; he could smell his father mere inches away from his face, could see every stubbled hair on his cheeks and the lighter flecks of golden brown in his dark eyes. Could smell sweat and leather and Dad, beer and gasoline, the salty burn of smoke and gunpowder.
He swallowed heavily.
“W-what?” he squeaked out, “What ‘ways’?”
He tried to look away but those rough lips were suddenly right in his face as Dad took another step forward.
“You heard me, boy.”
Another step, and a soft clink as Sam backed into the bedpost.
“I can figure out a few ways to keep disobedient little boys in line.”
Sam knew something was off, was wrong with the way his father said it but he couldn’t pinpoint it exactly until he felt smooth metal closing in on his wrist. He snapped his eyes open, tried to jerk away but John had already secured the handcuffs around the bedpost.
“Hey!” he complained as he gave the metal a sharp tug.
His father stepped away, satisfied when neither the cuffs nor the bed would budge. He snatched his journal away from the bedside table, tossing it onto the dresser with ease.
“You’re staying,” he said again from the door, brushing off the string of curses Sam sent after him with a wave of his hand.
+++
Chapter V
~
Let me know what you think!