WHO: John Winchester, Mary Winchester; mentions of Ben Braeden WHERE: the Winchester & co house WHEN: Sunday, January 29, 2006; early a.m., shortly after the beginning part of this WHAT: Dealing with the 'after' following the pits. RATING: TBD STATUS: part-log, part-thread; in-progress
Pulling into the driveway, John cut the engine of his truck and pulled up Sam's post again, checking for any new responses to it that he could see, hoping Ben had stayed distracted, that Mary had read it again and responded hours later because she was at the house worried, needing to see all that had lead up to this again. That there seemed to be no new ones now wasn't much of a hope, as there could be private responses.
The entire thing was a fiasco, from Sam's impetuousness to John's own fears. The demon blood gone, it was something John had wanted for Sam. Anyone who could dare say otherwise was a fool. Back in the early days, it had been because he feared that blood would corrupt Sam. Since coming to LA, after all Hell had taught him, after all he'd tried to do better about here, it had been because he'd wanted Sam to have the life his son wanted. Just like John had given Sam the admissions packet to law school, he'd supported Sam's need to be normal, because here, trying to be normal didn't have to mean something would kill Sam. Sam would always be in danger, just like the rest of them, but here they had more protections, more security, more reasons to stay together while giving everyone what they wanted.
But John couldn't support this leap of faith, for hundreds of reasons, reasons most didn't want to give a damn about, apparently. He'd failed as a father, again, by Sam getting near those pits before John could stop him. By the time he'd arrived there, it had been too late. He hadn't kept his son from making that possibly dangerous mistake, and as furious as he was at Sam, he was also furious with himself. Now, if this turned south down the line, John faced the possibility of having to save Sam just as he'd saved Dean. And even knowing the consequence of that, he'd still do it, because he wouldn't let Sam's rashness ruin his life, or the life of Sam and Heather's child. John was the father, it was his responsibility to protect his son.
Tucking the phone away, John slide out of the truck and walked slowly toward the house, hands shoved in his jacket pockets. He'd convinced Mary to stay at home, the reasoning being that Ben needed an adult in the house, but privately just wanting to protect her. The post had been enough, from Sam's multiple mentions of Mary's death with no thought to the fact it was that death, and the deal before it, that made Sam's action tonight, and all his words, cut into Mary. It was a hard place to be in, knowing he couldn't go defend his wife because the culprit was his son.
I know that you all say that you don't care, but it doesn't matter to me and it never will.
The words rankled because, as far as John saw it, that's what it all boiled down to, yet again, that everyone's feelings were summarily dismissed. With those words, Sam had declared that their love, especially the love that was wholly nonjudgmental, didn't matter. What matter to Sam was Sam.
But John wasn't going to do what he'd done last time, when Sam had cut them out of his life to go be normal at college. Mary needed her sons and she needed them under the same roof as her, to gain back a small part of all those years she and their boys had lost together. And, ultimately, John didn't want Sam to go, to take Heather and find someplace else to live. He needed his sons under the same roof, he needed them as safe as he could keep them. This city was a hundred times more dangerous and this house was far safer than nearly any other place - in some ways, safer than them all because of the barrier demons and angels could not cross.
He'd bite his tongue entirely, he'd still his fingers completely and he would keep his anger, disappointment and fear away from Sam, from Heather, from the others who'd known and said nothing, like Faith and Claire. It would be how the angry words wouldn't get said, the fights wouldn't get picked.
Complete silence was best.
Keeping busy was not hard in a house as large as the Winchester home, but at the end of the day Mary's favorite thing to do to busy her hands was still baking. Not because she liked measuring out the ingredients, (although there was something strangely calming about it) but because she loved watching something that she cooked bring joy to her family. She always had.
Now was different though, because most everyone was out dealing with the situation with Sam and, save for Ben, she was alone. She had set him to work, putting him in charge with putting a layer of frosting and sprinkles on each cookie cooling on the table. Time went on, and Ben's head began to drift lower and lower until he was finally sleeping with his head resting on his elbows, and Mary was well and truly alone.
She took a seat in a kitchen chair next to Ben, but her mind was far from the task. Her mind was on her sons, her husband, and out of habit Mary fished around the back pocket of her jeans, checking her phone again to see if she had missed a call.
Sighing, she dipped the spatula in the icing again and began on another cookie.
At the door to the house, John paused, resting his forehead briefly on the doorjam, then unlocked it and pushed the door open. Coming home, after these few months in LA, had meaning. Coming home usually meant smelling something good being cooked or baked or having just been so, catching a faint trace of Mary's perfume if she was close to the kitchen door at the time, hearing the sounds of his family milling about, coming in to the chatter of Ben about his day and a hundred questions about John's, seeing all of them there - all signs that this was home.
Coming home tonight had only one of those elements, as the family were all with Sam and Ben was crashed at the table. His gaze fell on Mary, years of knowing her telling him just how much she'd been worrying by the amount of food present at this early hour of the morning. He slid behind her, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of her forehead, then moved to Ben's chair.
"He been asleep long?" he asked quietly, even as he bent to scoop up his grandson, the act still every appearance of natural despite the years between now and the last time he'd had to pick up a sleeping kid and get them to bed.
Mary relaxed slightly when she saw John coming in, because having her husband around always made her feel safe and loved in a way she couldn't even begin to understand. She closed her eyes, sighing softly in relief when she felt the lingering kiss to her forehead, and put the spatula down. There were enough cookies to cover a veritable army's needs, so she could give up on that for now.
"Not for too long, I think he was trying to wait up to hear some news on how everyone was doing, so I kept him busy until he crashed."
Watching her husband scoop their grandson into his arms and carry him toward his bedroom made Mary's heart catch. It was something she had always planned on with John, raising their kids and spoiling their grandkids, and though things had not turned out as she had expected, it still warmed her heart to see how good he was with Ben. Mary followed them, opening doors and pulling down the covers of the child's bed. It was easier to focus on what Ben needed to rest comfortably than to think about her son, who could be hurting or forever changed, or, worse yet, set up for failure years down the road.