#young!john

John’s first pet was a stray cat. Dutch wasn’t too happy about it but he just couldn’t say no to John. The cat looked like it went through hell and back, black and poofy with hair knots littering its body. He was a gray and black cat and John named him “Ricky” after his favorite gunslinger Landon Ricketts

Dutch would spend a lot of time outside the gang life with both Arthur and John. He’d take them for rides around the county, teaching them about the world around them and the life that was given to them. This is when he did most of his teachings.

He’d take them to some river and say, “This river here is just like us. It’s naturally unnatural. Constantly changing, constantly moving, and never letting up. It’s got one goal in mind and that's to make it to the open ocean. If something gets in its way, it just carves a new path. It violently breaks down the earth and rocks under it, turning them to sand. Just like us, we are running, flowing, seeking a place hundreds of miles away and breaking down the things in our path to get them,” Dutch would lead them further down to a calmer part of the river, “But we are still kind. We are still calm, and we can take our time getting to our goals. There are times that call for violence in it’s rawest form, but we -just live the river- are not meant to always rush ourselves. We have to remember, even in the hardest loudest and violent times in our lives, there is always smoother water to sail afterward.”

Dutch had a strange way of always taking the natural events of the word and tying them into their outlaw morals. He prided himself on being an outlaw with “fans” as if he was some kind of king of the west. However, lurking down inside him, there was something dark, hungry, envious and overpowering that called for more, more, more. Someday he’d start losing the fight of the battle of his own mind.

Hosea, on the other hand, tried to teach John and Arthur with books, schooling, math, and numbers. If Hosea was good at anything, it was numbers. He taught the boys how to count money, cards, bonds, and he taught them how to do it almost as good as him. 

He tried his best to also teach them how to stay calm in situations that caused fear and panic. His golden rule and biggest moral were, “You can talk yourself out of any situation,” That was a firm belief of his because there had never been a situation he couldn’t smooth talk he way out of.

The first heist that they took John on was a stagecoach robbery. He was 14 years old and had been with the gang for 2 years now, it was 1887  (Arthur was 24 at the time very much in love with MIss Mary, he even gave her a ring) and now finally he could go with them! No more doing chores with Grimshaw, no more reading books! No drunk Uncle pestering him!

He hadn’t had his own horse yet, but that was fine. He was going to be used as bait. A stagecoach filled with money was traveling through and John was going to be the boy who cried wolf, distracting the drivers while Hosea, Dutch, and Arthur did their jobs.

It went as well as they hoped it did. John pretended to be a boy bitten by a snake while the drivers jumped off and helped him. Arthur and Dutch took the drivers by the surprised and knocked them out with the blunt end of their guns. Hosea cracked open the door to the coach and they took about four grand worth of money. It was by far one of their most profitable heists. Quiet, unseen, quick, and big profit. 

From then on, until the last few months of John being 15, when he looked more like a young man than a helpless teen, he did his role as a lost boy. The year was 1888, and there was a massive train with plenty of wealthy men and woman riding to New York. This mission didn’t go very good. In fact, it was almost a disaster and they all nearly got away with their lives. 

The Tip that Arthur got was half true and half wrong. It was right about the amount of money and valuables on the train, but deeply and horribly wrong about the number of guards on this train and hired gunmen. There was even lawmen on that train, and the tip said nothing about that.

This was the first time Arthur had ever experience being this close to death. They got as far as the luggage cart, getting bags worth of money and personal items. But once they got to the passenger cars... all hell broke loose.

Arthur had the shit beaten out of him in a fist fight with a guard, then shot twice by a lawman. John got thrown off the train and broke his arm on the fall. Hosea got arrested but escaped and fled back for John, though it was hard being cuffed and doing so. Dutch had to shoot as many of the lawmen, hired guns and guards as he could and he had to do it fast. Every second he was fighting them was a second Arthur was laying there and bleeding out. He got shot in the in his stomach, but thankful no were near his gut, it was off to his side and went straight through. The other shot was in his thigh, and the bullet was logged in there and he could feel it every time the passenger car moved.

Dutch was able to fend them off enough and leave all their bags of profit behind. He had to throw Arthur off the train and himself too. He did it just in time to be thrown into a calm river that opened into a massive lake. He had to drag Arthur out of the water, which was fine because Arthur could still swim and float -it was just extremely painful. 

After they all go back to their camp.... Marry was there waiting and saw what had happened to Arthur. She couldn’t take this anymore. He had lied to her and told her he was just “going on a trip with Dutch and them.” He never said he was going to rob a train and he had no idea how much a shit show it was going to be.

She told him, while he was laying there getting a bullet taken out of his leg, she told him she was leaving him, and that her father had set arrangments for her to met another man. She had cried saying it, and she couldn’t stand to see the mess Arthur had made himself, and she couldn’t take seeing him dying there. 

She was almost certain he wasn’t going to make it. His face was broken and bloody, his nose was beyond repair. He had cuts and open wounds all over his arms alongside deep black and purple bruises. His right side was torn up with a hole that went clean through is back, leaking blood even as they cauterized it and covered it with alcohol cotton and bandages. His leg was the worst. The bullet was deep in there, stuck in the dense muscle fibers. They really had to dig in there to find it, when they pulled it out an artery in his leg spurted open gushed blood everywhere. 

Arthur eventually passed out from the pain and all the whiskey he kept drinking. When he woke up, Marry wasn’t there and he could barely remember what happened. All he remembered is she said she wasn't coming back. It was Susan, who was the one who fixed him up and took out his bullet, that remembered everything Mary said (Only because she was outraged by it) and told Arthur. 

“You'd know better than me,” he says, chuckling. You both drift into silence, exchanging glances every now and again. Huffing, you stand to your feet, making your way to the linen closet. Poor bastard looks like he hasn't slept in days. Swinging open the closet door, you search through your spare blankets, trying to find one large enough for him, and his children. Sam and Dean are already fast asleep on the couch, maybe he'll take the armchair. The sound of floorboards creaking makes you pause in your tracks, but by the time you turn to investigate, John is already reaching over your shoulder.

“I'm fine without a blanket,” he says, grabbing out a blue, floral print quilt. “Just wanna make sure my boys are warm,” he adds, grabbing out a pillow. Before you can speak, he's walking off, tucking his son's underneath the blanket.

“My bed's pretty comfy,” you blurt, making him whirl around. He frowns, his hand gently stroking Dean's head. “Big enough for the three of you.”

“I'm not gonna take your room over,” he chuckles. John presses a quick kiss on Dean's head before giving Sam the same treatment. You let out a hum, and once more, he turns to you, clearing his throat. “We're fine here, really,” he says.

“Right. If you need anything.” You gesture to your bedroom. “I'm just a few feet away,” you say. He nods in return, turning his attention to his boys once more. You begin making your way to your bedroom, pausing to look at the Winchester's over your shoulder. John is still kneeling over his boys. “Night John,” you whisper, finally making your way to your bedroom.

–

Something is moving.

Your already light sleep is interrupted by the sound of something god damn moving. Without thinking, you jolt up, snatching your gun from beneath your pillow and pointing it to the source of the noise: Your bedroom door creaking open. John holds his hands up in defense, gaining a huff from you.

“John Winchester,” you begin, lowering your gun as you try to calm your breaths. “Knock. Before. Entering.”

“I'm sorry I – you said if I needed something, come to you,” he says. “I should've knocked,” he mumbles.

“Damn right you shoulda knocked,” you grumble, shifting in your spot. In the dark, you can barely make out his form. You can tell that he's not looking at you, though, so you let out a laugh. “I just don't wanna accidentally shoot you, baby,” you say, cursing yourself for the pet name.

“You got a spare pillow?” he asks, clearing his throat. “'Baby'?” he adds, a laugh in his throat.

“Oh, he's got jokes,” you tease, climbing out of your bed with a pillow in hand. As you make your way to him, you find a soft smile on his face.

“Some,” he says, gently pulling the pillow from your hands, his fingertips gliding over your skin. You rest your hand on his chest, gently pushing him out of your room.

“Get some rest,” you say in a near whisper. He allows you to lead him out of the room silently, his eyes locked on yours. As you close the door, the pounding of your heart becomes apparent.