#johnwinchesterweek

It’s been five full minutes of sitting in silence, John’s finished his burger and drink, Sam has picked at his fries but the rest of his meal sits untouched. There’s an anxiety about his movements, how his hands twitch and his knee bounces against the impalas bench. John has been trying to give Sam the opportunity to talk first, spill whatever’s been bothering him, he normally tells Dean his issues but he had specifically asked John to go get lunch. Just them.

John would be lying if he wasn’t happy to hear Sam ask him to do something together, they’ve been arguing more often than not recently, and the idea of getting to relax with his youngest brought John warmth. But that warmth has slowly started to slip away the longer they stay in the tensioned filled car.

“Dad?” Sam’s voice brings him away from his thoughts, an urgency to the word that catches John’s attention.

“Yeah Sam?” There’s a sharpness that takes over Sam’s eyes, the one he gets when they argue, when he practices shooting in Bobby’s junkyard, it looks just like his own. John sees so much of himself in Sam that it terrifies him, he hates the idea of Sam turning into him. Bitter, vengeful, cold.

“I’m gay.” John’s throat closes and he opens his mouth to say something but Sam’s cutting him off before he can.

“And I know you’re going to have an issue with it but I don’t care. I’m gay and there’s nothing you can do about it, I- I mean hell we fight monsters! You’re hunting a demon that killed mom so I don’t thing that me being gay is that bad. I’ve heard the comments you make and the looks you give but I don’t care! I refuse to lie about this when I lie about so much in my life—!” John drops his hands to Sam’s shoulders to make him stop talking.

“Kid, I don’t have an issue with you being gay.”

Despite all the teachings and beliefs that his own father pushed onto him, John has tried to be better. To make up his own mind and realize that there really is more to be upset about than someone’s romantic relationship. He knows he slips up and lets out a misjudged comment or gives some people second glances, but he never thought either of the boys picked up on it, never thought it would be so personal to his sons. He feels sick at the idea of Sam hiding himself away because of John.

“Wh- what?” Sam’s eyebrows scrunch together as he deflates back into his seat, sliding out of the loose grasp John still had on his shoulders, on the t shirt that used to be his own.

When he runs into Mary, quite literally, he tries. She’s confident, doesn’t tolerate his bullshit; she gives his life structure. He gets a job at the local garage, tinkers with old engines all day until they purr again. He manages to flinch only slightly at loud noises. But even sharing a bed with Mary, John still has nightmares, suddenly sits up in bed with a bitter taste in his mouth and ringing in his ears. Mary’s soft touch, her hand rubbing gently on his back, helps him settle again some nights, but on others he flees their bed, withdraws to their garage to work on his car in dim lighting until the sun rises. It soothes him, the rhythmic sound of the wrench, the mechanics he knows he will get to work again with the right amount of love and care. It’s something he can fix. 

Insomnia turns into a blessing by the time Dean is born. John enjoys having a task, something to occupy his mind when the memories are too loud. Soothing his son, that little body on his chest, makes the noise disappear, grounds him into the here and now. Mary is thankful for the help, thankful for not being woken in the middle of the night by John’s tossing and turning.  

When Mary is pregnant again, John takes to sleeping on the daybed in Dean’s room, the steady rise and fall of his son’s chest, the little huffed breaths something for him to focus on. It helps him fall into fitful sleep most nights, Dean never bothered by his fits and starts of consciousness and Mary having her space to get the rest she needs. 

By the time little Sammy arrives, John feels better, sleeps sounder, the days long and exhausting between the job at the garage and the time he spends taking care of the whirlwind that is Dean. It allows his mind to stop spinning, to stop dredging up those awful memories every night. John relaxes, the weight of his dog tags against his chest no longer such a burden. 

He falls asleep in front of the TV one night, Mary already up in bed, the kids down for the night. John wakes to heat and screaming and that awful smell and his heart rockets into his throat, the blood rushing loudly in his ears. By the time he makes it upstairs, he’s too late. He pushes little Sammy into Dean’s arms and tells him to run, can’t do anything but watch as Mary burns.  

It’s cold outside when they watch the firefighters douse their house in water. Dean is shivering against his side, Sammy crying loudly where he’s cradled in John’s arms, but John doesn’t hear or feel a thing.  

He relaxed, he got complacent. His ears thunder with the echoes of crackling fire, louder than the gunshots ever were, his skin crawling at the knowledge that he allowed the enemy behind his lines, let the enemy take something so important from him. John heaves a breath, holds his sons tighter. He won’t lose them. 

John won’t let his guard down again.