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Tweak says, "BELIEVE IT!"

Dean Winchester hugs baby trees (withgunsdrawn) wrote in wariscoming,
@ 2010-10-01 15:29:00

Entry tags:

dean winchester, john winchester

Who? Dean and John Winchester
What? SRS DISCUSSIONZ.
Where? At/around the complex.
When? Shortly after his text messages to Dean.
Rating? Unsure, but probably nothing terrifying.
Note: Erin is spamming everyone today!

Dean wasn’t entirely sure whether or not he should be dreading this encounter with his father. At the moment, he was leaning towards should, because this was probably going to be one of those conversations he really didn’t want to have, the kind that left him with more questions than answers and made him feel like a soldier who wasn’t supposed to talk back to a commanding officer, instead of a son who could just speak frankly with his father. Last time he’d seen Dad alive, before all this, he hadn’t even realized that’s what their relationship was. It had taken not having him around to make him see that, and now...

Well, now he just wasn’t sure how to relate to his father, how to respond to him, if he could say what he thought about things without worrying about pissing John off. It wasn’t that he was afraid of him - he wasn’t, he never really had been - it was just the way they operated, and now he had spent a couple years without him, and ... it just didn’t feel right, either way.

Still, they probably really did need to do this. There were a lot of things that needed to be discussed, and he knew that, and the longer they got put off, the worse it would be. He still hadn’t had Sam fill him in on everything - apparently whatever his brother had to tell him, it was going to suck - but this whole Adam thing alone was a big enough issue that he was pretty sure it needed to be dealt with.

He couldn’t deny that he was kind of pissed about it Mostly it was about the fact that John hadn’t even told them about the kid, that he’d kept it quiet, some dirty little secret. Sure, he got why, in theory - to keep Adam safe, that made sense, because if they had connections to him, he’d have been dead before he ever hit his teenage years - but he could have said something, he should have known Dean would never have put the kid in danger.

(And then there was the petty jealous side of himself that wanted to know when, exactly, Dad had been visiting the kid. He’d never said anything, no I’m off to visit your other brother, not even off to visit friends or anything, it was always another hunt another job another lead to follow up on, and Dean hadn’t questioned him, not even once, and at least at some point, he’d been trusting in a lie, because he doubted Dad had just dropped in on the way to or from a hunt, he wasn’t like that, he’d have been careful, planned it out so nothing could follow him from either direction, made lots of stops and covered his trail, like he’d done going to Pastor Jim’s, or Bobby’s.)

None of that mattered, though. He was still going. Pulling up outside the complex, he turned the engine off and sighed as it went silent. He didn’t linger inside, because that would look like weakness (he wasn’t sure if Dad would be looking for weaknesses, looking for fear like ~~Dean sometimes caught himself doing~~ a wild animal waiting to pounce, or looking for flaws to drill out of him, but he didn’t want to give him any, if he was). He held himself steady, although it was probably pointless - Dad could probably see straight through him, see the anger and the unease and everything he wanted to hide, because Dad always did know what he was thinking, except for when he didn’t have a clue.

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spendsitonammo
2010-10-07 08:19 am UTC (link)

John wasn't looking forward to it either, especially after everything he'd learned Sam had been doing. Things had gone south, fast. He didn't want the same rift to come further between him and Dean. He'd lost too much as it was already, he couldn't lose Dean ontop of it. He wouldn't. He had to make this right somehow. At least bearable. He didn't have the foggiest idea how, this wasn't something he could just order Dean away from and expect him to follow. This was a family matter and it would have o lead to a discussion he really wasn't drunk enough to be having.

Everything was coming at him so fast. Back from the dead. Sam started the apocalypse. Mary alive. He hadn't really had time to process anything, from the minute he'd found himself on a street in Kansas with Dean, every minute counted. And still in theory it did. But he had made time for Dean. He owed him at least that. He'd never wanted the hunters life for Sam and Dean. In the long run everything that was happening was his fault. The way he raised them..it was a product of his design. He'd tried his best considering the times. Mary's death had nearly killed him. He dove into hunting head first and nearly drowned in the obsession of trying to find the thing that killed his wife and ruined his family. In the process he broke them more. Somewhere deep down inside he knew it. That was why Adam had to be different. Had to be shielded from hunting. He wanted him safe from the daily pain and loss he constantly suffered.

He was waiting for Dean where he said he'd be. He heard the familiar sound of the Impala's engine and its silence. He didn't make a single gesture or acknowledgement in the direction of his son. He just waited. His family meant the world to him even if he didn't show it. The entire reason all this started was a failed attempted to save and protect them.

Mary had given him nearly an earful about his choices and decisions. He couldn't say he blamed her either. Somewhere along the line he'd stopped being their father altogether and started being a drill sergeant. Finally when he saw Dean he didn't even hesitate. "..Dean." He offered as a weak greeting. "Listen to me. " He began like always, "You understand I never wanted this for any of you boys, don't you?"

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withgunsdrawn
2010-10-07 07:54 pm UTC (link)

Dean kept his head down, eyes on his father - watching, waiting for something to tell him what he was supposed to do, here. Something to tell him which direction this conversation was going to go, whether it was going to turn into an argument or not. For all that Sam and Dad went at it all the time, fighting with every breath, it wasn't completely unheard of for Dean and John to fight, either - it was just a different kind of fighting. Less shouting and physical fighting, more psychological warfare, words aimed just-so to get the point across, get the desired result, little barbs here and there...

...barbs Dean did his best not to throw, did his best to hold back, because he wasn't supposed to throw them, wasn't supposed to do anything but agree, or at least obey. It took a lot to make him snap, it took a lot to make him fight back, do anything other than stand there and take in whatever was being said, let it wash over him and sink into him and send him on his way with his new purpose in mind, his new goal to achieve... his new orders to follow.

Sam wasn't wrong, was never wrong, when he said Dean was just a good little soldier. It chafed a little, made him feel like Sam was looking down on him for thinking obedience was better than rebellion, but he'd never been sure what was so wrong with it. He hadn't understood why he shouldn't follow, until Dad had been gone and his last words had left doubt behind, and the he'd learned that following orders wasn't good enough, anymore.

And now he was back, and Dean just... he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do now.

>”...Dean. Listen to me. You understand I never wanted this for any of you boys, don’t you?”

Dean shifted his stance slightly, shoulders rolled in close, defensive. Like he was waiting for the physical blow to follow the words, because never wanted this for any of you was something he'd heard for so long, day after day, year after year, always right before something serious and something bad, something like we're moving again, or if you can't save your brother, you'll have to kill him and he was so tired of hearing about how their lives were supposed to be different, something more, something better when it was what it was.

Sure, it sucked, sometimes. A lot of the time. He'd been to Hell, he'd watched his brother die, he'd been beaten on and ripped apart more times than he could count but it was what it was, it was their lives. Yeah, he wished Mom hadn't died, that they'd just stayed where they were and lived their lives in peace, but he knew better than to think that would be any better, in a lot of ways. It would be less dangerous, but there was no such thing as a perfect world, a perfect life.

"You always say that," quiet words, practically a mumble and he cut his eyes away, let them fall and bounce from thing to thing, grass to stones to cracks in the pavement, but never landing on his father, because he couldn't do this if he was looking, couldn't look at his father and defy him, he wasn't sure he knew how. He wasn't Sam, he'd never been good at this, didn't know if he even wanted to be.

"Can you just be straight with me? For once?" He was choking on the words, it sounded like (it felt like it, too, only this wasn't what choking really felt like, this wasn't how it felt, because he was still breathing and there wasn't something blocking the air, this wasn't the same thing), rough and low and quiet, an underlying apologetic tone laced through because he didn't want to be saying this, he didn't want to be throwing barbs or poison or accusations. He didn't want to fight.

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spendsitonammo
2010-10-21 12:35 am UTC (link)

John sighed in frustration, He had a good reason to say it. It was true. Of course Dean would want more then that when it came to having a little brother he knew nothing about. Hell, John wanted more then that. At the same time he was worried. Adam had died because of him from what he understood via the boards. Because of the things he did as a hunter, he brought all that crap back home to him and his mom and none of them were prepared to handle it. It still upset him, it was another notch on his long list of regrets.

He wasn't used to fighting with Dean. It was new to him and he didn't like it. Dean had always done as he asked every step of the way. Rarely without complaint or hesitation. John sort of missed that. With Mary around though he should have known things were going to be different. He watched his oldest with a small frown as he shifted his weight from foot to foot.

"What do you want me to say, Dean? I spent years hunting for the thing that killed your mom and.." He paused as he almost said 'us'. It wasn't the demon that'd broken the family, it was him. Plain and simple it was him. "I was tired of being alone." Finally words of truth. He'd done the best he could with Dean and Sam at the time, but the truth was he was alone in his obsession and it took a toll on him. At least he felt alone. After Mary died part of him had broken down to nothing. He spent years trying to get it back but could never win.

'I wanted them to have a normal life." Then look where it got him. He had to turn his gaze away from Dean. Their death had done nothing but broken him further. It showed as much as he tried not to let it, it showed and he tried to pass it off as anger Every time he talked about the good things in his life, he lost them. So he just tried not to discuss it at all.

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withgunsdrawn
2010-10-21 04:28 pm UTC (link)

>"What do you want me to say, Dean? I spent years hunting for the thing that killed your mom and... I was tired of being alone."

Dean’s eyes lifted for just a second, met his father’s in what was an unspoken you had us, which he was never going to voice, because he knew it wasn’t the same thing, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t true. It could have been enough, but John had never stopped mourning long enough to let it be.

The only time their father had ever been truly alone was when he left them behind... and he always did, didn’t he? That was how he worked, that was how it always went. The Earth rotated around the sun, the sky was blue, and Dad left - those were facts of life. Sam was just like him like that, at least when he was younger - always wanting to leave, always planning to leave, running away from their life and running away from him, and Dean never could keep up with either of them.

>“I wanted them to have a normal life.”

There were so many things he could say to that. So many different things - some that would work like a slow poison, eating away from the inside for years; there were so many other things that would be like thin blades between the ribs and take him out quickly and cleanly, save him the suffering. But Dean wasn’t going to say any of those things, he wasn’t - turning away and running a hand across his face for a second, rubbing at his eyes, trying to take that moment’s pause and keep from fighting back with everything he had, like a wounded animal pinned into a corner.

It wasn’t so much that the kid existed that was the problem. What did he care if Dad got some woman pregnant? Sure, it was weird to think about (okay, really weird, and more than a little disturbing), but it happened. And it wasn’t like he thought Dad never... you know... He knew, in theory. So, okay, that itself wasn’t a big deal.

The problem was that at some point his father had gone off, told his kids that he was going to be off working, left them behind and spent time with another son, one he treated like a normal kid, even if it was only once a year or so. He’d never said a word about Sam or Dean, like the two of them were the dirty little secret to be kept quiet just as much as Adam was, and he didn’t even have the excuse of wanting to keep the two of them safe, because if Adam was so safe, how could letting him know they existed have been any kind of a danger? Besides, it wasn’t like by that point they weren’t already facing danger every moment of their lives, between the mundane things like dodging police and CPS, and dealing with bigger evils like monsters and demons.

And when he was there, it was all orders and training and research - or at least that was most of it, enough of it to make everything else seem to fade into the background.

He turned back around, at least a little more under control now, much less blades or poison in his words. “You think I wouldn’t have kept it quiet? It wouldn’t have hurt anything to tell me. You know I wouldn’t ever have put him in danger.” He’d spent his whole life taking care of Sam - it wasn’t like his father wouldn’t have known how much his family meant to him, how much of a priority safety was. He wouldn’t have said a word about Adam, wouldn’t have ever questioned it if his father said stay away - he just wouldn’t have been blind-sided by it like this, so late and with so many other negative things between them that made this one little betrayal feel like being shoved off a cliff.

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spendsitonammo
2010-10-21 08:29 pm UTC (link)

John didn't know what to say when Dean turned to face him finally. But he could feel a headache creeping up on him. Dean's new attitude was so much more complicated then he expected, and he didn't know what to do with it. He rubbed his fingertips across his forehead as if trying to brush it away. Of course it failed. It was still lingering and threatening to take him over.

"It wasn't that simple. " If it was, he would have told them in a heart beat wouldn't he? He wouldn't have tried to keep it like some dirty secret. "I made so many mistakes, Dean. But I always did the best I could at the time." This was a lot more painful then he ever anticipated. Part of him wondered if Dean would ever look at him the same way again, and the other refused to show that kind of emotion. He was at internal war with himself and didn't even portray a hint of it on his face or in his eyes.

That wasn't the kind of man John Winchester was. He didn't crack under pressure, he didn't cave to emotion. He got the job done and moved on. But this wasn't a job, and what John was about to say he was pretty sure Dean had only heard once in his life time.

"I'm sorry." A look of hurt reached his eyes as much as he tried to fight it, it was there. Had it been Sam standing infront of him, things would have gone differently. There would have been many more issues and yelling, but with Dean it was more of a mental battle, and John felt like he was losing on all sides.

It was new to him and he didn't know what else to say. After his apology he was just quiet. He attempted to become stone, much like Sam and Dean had known their entire life. That stone faced image of discipline.

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withgunsdrawn
2010-10-22 05:18 pm UTC (link)

>"It wasn't that simple."

Of course it wasn’t that simple - when was anything in their lives ever simple? Dean wasn’t sure when, exactly, that became the common excuse for their family, for every little thing that went wrong, but it had been one of Sam’s favorite things to say, too, when he was going through that frustrating teenager stage - it’s not that simple like anything at all was.

>"I made so many mistakes, Dean. But I always did the best I could at the time."

It wasn’t like he didn’t get that, and he didn’t like the implication that he didn’t understand, that he was some kind of snot-nosed kid who didn’t understand the way the world worked. He did - he never thought Dad wasn’t doing the best he could, or what he thought was best, at least. He got that, he’d lived it himself - real life, once you grew up, sucked. He’d thought he was doing the best thing for Sam by going to Hell for him... and look where that had gotten them.

He was just tired of not knowing what he was supposed to think, anymore. It had been so easy, before - he could just obey, and it would all sync up and be okay, because he’d thought Dad knew best. That was before if you can’t save him you’ll have to kill him, before he’d learned that what was best was usually not the simpl e thing, not the easiest thing, before this gulf came between them and made him feel like he was adrift and drowning.

>"I'm sorry."

“Sorry you did it, or sorry it didn’t work the way you thought?” The words kind of tumbled out of him, he wasn’t even aware he was going to say anything at all until the words hit the air in a dulled, lifeless tone, so flat it sounded like it wasn’t even him speaking. Dean looked over at his father with a sinking feeling that lasted only the few seconds it took for him to remember he was an adult, now, he wasn’t Dad’s little soldier anymore; he didn’t have to feel like he was breaking the rules because the rules were out the window. The feeling faded, and his chin lifted just a little, silent I’m not scared of you, not that he thought that was what his father wanted, but it was a small sign of defiance, unfamiliar but crucial, because if he didn’t rebel just a little, now, it wouldn’t be long before he was stepping back into the clear-cut lines of his father’s orders. He knew himself well enough to know that.

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