Fic: The Dins of the Fathers, Chapter 2
The Dins of the Fathers: Chapter 2, wherein poor John Winchester gets a verbal smack down from some other famous dads.
Potential Spoiler Alert: References to "Something Wicked" and "In my Time of Dying" in this Chapter as well as brief mentions of "A Very Supernatural Christmas" and "Jump the Shark".
DISCLAIMER: I still don't own any of these characters.
Chapter 2
John scratched at his beard stubble as he watched the older man weep with remorse.
He'd never been so openly manipulative to get his boys to do as he wished. He'd just barked orders and expected them to be followed. That had always been his way and the best way he knew to keep them all safe and on track. They were on a mission after all and there was no room for compromise when it came to hunting evil.
But now he remembered all the arguments and harsh words over the years. The bitter disillusionment he saw on his sons' faces as they grew to realize their lives would never be normal and the hunt would never end. His heart sank knowing they had both yearned for a life that he just couldn't provide for them.
But given their circumstances, how could he have done any differently?
"I guess I can't say that I was very supportive of my sons' dreams either," he reluctantly admitted, "But our lives were... complicated. There were evil forces surrounding us at all times and fighting off that evil had to come first. I mean, isn't that part of being a good father? Helping your kids set priorities?"
He looked at the other men's blank faces and felt his frustration rise. Was he really stuck here with this bunch for all Eternity?
Just then, he heard a rustling through the trees above. Before he could look up, something hard and round fell from the sky and beaned him right on the noggin.
"Sonofabitch!" he cursed, leaping up and kicking the lawn chair away.
How many times today was he going to be struck in the head by random flying objects?
Whirling around, he quickly spotted the latest culprit: a golf ball lying in the mud at his feet. It had come from somewhere beyond the chain linked fence.
"Fore!" someone called out belatedly.
"Oh great!" Bunker snorted, "These guys!"
John watched as a golf cart pulled up to the fence carrying four well-groomed, affluent looking men. They all wore Polo shirts with the words "Eternal Estates" emblazoned in gold over their moniker and barely acknowledged the presence of the other men as they ambled out searching for their ball.
With ill-contained fury, John picked up the offending object, rolling it between his fingers as he fixed the new comers with a steely glare.
"Looking for this?" he asked in a low growl.
"I'd say you're out of bounds, Tanner!" a man with a bad perm and name 'Mike Brady' etched on his shirt chortled.
"It wound up on the wrong side of the fence." Danny Tanner whined. "I call a do over!"
"Too bad there are no 'do overs' for everything that winds up on the wrong side of the fence," an older man by the name of Howard Cunningham said as he looked pointedly at John, "Eh, Winchester?"
John was taken aback.
"How do you know me...?"
"We get the newsletter," a chubby man named Philip Banks said off handedly, "Read all about you before you got down here. It's a shame, really, where you wound up. We could have used a man with your skills on our side to help keep the riff raff out."
"Oh, please!" Brady sneered, "It was obvious from the get go he was never our sort!"
"And what exactly is your sort?" John seethed, wishing for all the world he had his trusty sawed off filled with buckshot at his side.
"Good fathers," Brady said shortly, "The kind who provide a loving, stable home for their kids. Not the kind who drag them all over the country side hunting down werewolves and warlocks and what have you."
"Yeah, and not the kind who leave their young children alone for days on end with nothing to eat but Spaghetti-O's and Lucky Charms," Cunningham sniffed.
"Not the kind who skip out on Christmas while they're off tracking down some elusive Chupacabra." Banks added.
"Or who miss their son's birthday while they're holed up with some skanky nurse in Minnesota!" Tanner blurted out, "Oh yeah! You heard right! I went there!"
"BOO YAH!" Banks shouted, chest bumping Tanner.
John grimaced as the men all laughed and high fived each other.
"Look," he sighed, "I'll be the first to admit, I wasn't perfect. But I did what I had to do. My sons knew the score. We were never going to have some wholesome, apple pie existence. Not after that Demon targeted our family, destroyed our home and took the boys' mother away. Can any of you tell me you how you would have reacted if it was your wife you found pinned and gutted over your head, being burned alive before your very eyes?"
John heard someone tittering behind him and spun around to see Al Bundy leaning back with a big goofy grin on his face.
"Something funny?" John snapped.
"Oh, sorry," Bundy said with a dreamy sigh, "I was just picturing my wife Peg stuck to the ceiling, bursting into flames. Ahh… if only…"
John's fists clenched with rage but he forced himself to turn his attention away from the moron behind him as he realized he was being addressed by a man at the fence.
"You know, I can sympathize to a certain extent," Tanner said sincerely, "I lost my wife in a tragic accident as well and was left to raise three little girls all by myself. But it's really not that hard to be a good father even in the worst of circumstances. You just have to make sure your kids have their teeth brushed, their chores finished, get your best friend and brother-in-law to help deal with the chaos and all of your troubles will be solved in about a half an hour!"
John didn't know whether to laugh or vomit as the man beamed at him with a toothy, oblivious smile.
"And if a Shtriga climbed in your window and started sucking the life force out of your daughters- do you think you could have solved that in about a half an hour?"
Tanner frowned, perplexed.
"I guess I would have let their Uncle Jesse deal with that one," he mumbled, "Helping the girls with their homework was more my territory."
"My point exactly," John said gruffly, "You had no idea what was really out there. The nightmares I faced every day of my life. Maybe I didn't get to spend much time with my sons as they were growing up, but lives were at stake. I had to go above and beyond to stop as many evil things as I could to protect nice, happy, clueless families just like yours."
"Oh, come down off your high horse, Winchester!" Cunningham scoffed, "So you got to play the Knight in Shining Black Chevy for other people's families. Meanwhile, your own children were left alone and vulnerable while this Shtriga thing was lurking about."
"Yeah, don't think the Newsletter didn't mention that!" Banks spat, "What were you thinking, man?"
John began shifting his feet and rubbing nervously at the back of his neck.
"I…I wouldn't say I left them vulnerable…exactly," he said, swallowing hard "I put my older son in charge and gave him a shotgun…"
"Who puts that much responsibility on a 9 year old kid?" Brady roared, "I never would have dreamed of handing my Greg a shotgun at that age and telling him to watch out for Marsha, Peter, Jan, Bobby and Cindy... not unless our maid Alice was around to supervise."
"But you don't know my Dean," John insisted, "He was a really good shot even back then...I thought he could handle the situation…"
"Oh, sure," Banks rolled his eyes, "Watching his little brother get attacked by some big ass witch with rotted skin and giant claw-like hands… Yeah, that's not at all tramatic for a young boy. Any child could handle that situation. Go you!"
John paled at the memory.
"You're right," he sighed, "It was a mistake… a big one… one of many I made… But I tried to learn from my mistakes and make it up to my boys over the years."
"The Powers that Be keep track of stuff like that though," Tanner said, "I mean, why do you think you wound up in such a lousy neighborhood with such a crummy trailer?"
"Yep, that's how it works around here, old sport," Brady said smugly, "If you'd been a better father, you would have gotten a better place to spend Eternity. See that big mansion up the hill? That's what they give you for raising six kids, teaching them right from wrong and putting each and every one of them through college… You know rather than disowning them for choosing Higher Education over monster hunting."
"Oh no you didn't!" Tanner snickered, "You so bad, Brady!"
John felt his blood boiling as the men once again high fived each other in a mocking dance at his expense.
"Another mistake. I admit it," he grumbled, "But Sam and I made our peace about that whole mess and all was forgiven in the end."
"I think the Powers that Be would have at least set you up with a working stove and a shower faucet that didn't drip if all was forgiven," Cunningham retorted.
"Who are these Powers that Be anyway?" John wanted to know, "And how does anyone wind up on your side of the fence at all if their rules are so strict and there's no way to redeem yourself?"
"Oh, I don't know that their rules are so strict," Banks said, "They could have taken me to task for spoiling my own kids rotten. But I got major Brownie points for taking in my wayward nephew Will… excuse me… 'Fresh Prince'. We're talking Olympic sized heated pool Brownie points."
"Oh yeah, being a father figure to someone other than your own children? They love that around here," Cunningham said, "Like when I mentored a young leather clad hooligan named Arthur Fonzarelli… excuse me 'The Fonz'. I gave him a home over my garage and now get to enjoy Eternity with my own indoor tennis court."
"See, you could have redeemed yourself as a father to someone else's kids even if you screwed up royally with your own." Tanner nodded.
"Didn't Sam and Dean have a Cousin Oliver you could have looked after for a summer?" Brady asked, "That might have at least earned you a nice little ranch house instead of a dented aluminum trailer."
John shook his head in disbelief at the madness of it all.
"You know, for all my mistakes as a father, the whole reason I'm down here in the first place is because Dean was at death's door and I traded my soul and my own life in exchange for his! Doesn't that count for something around here?"
"Right after you made that deal for Dean you told him he might have to kill his own brother!" Banks snapped.
"That's why your sink is clogged!" Tanner announced.
"And you left those poor young men to face the Demon all by themselves without you and without the Colt. On top of that they're carrying around so much angst and guilt over your death." Cunningham shook his head.
"That's why you have no indoor toilet!" Tanner added.
John bowed his head. As much as he hated to admit these smarmy men were right he still felt like crawling into the swamp and digging himself a hole to spend the rest of Eternity in. He really had made a mess of things with his boys. But even through it all, there was one thing he couldn't regret…
"I know my boys are alone and hurting now," he said, "But I also know, because of me, they're strong and they'll survive. If nothing else, I raised them to be fighters and they'll go on fighting. They'll continue to hunt down every evil thing that crosses their paths and save as many innocent people as they can. They may even save one of your snotty nosed brats someday. The world is a safer place with them in it and so I know I did that much right as a father."
"Eh, whatever," Brady shrugged, "Bottom line, Winchester, you're not welcome at the Country Club."
"Yeah, we've only got one space left," Tanner teased, "And that's reserved for Bobby Singer!"
John growled and charged at the fence, causing the men to jump back startled.
"Let's go!" Tanner yelped.
"Smell ya later, Johnny Boy!" Banks called out as they all raced towards the golf cart.
"And don't even think about trying to trespass over here!" Brady warned, "We've got Guard Dogs! More ferocious and terrifying than anything thing you could ever imagine!"
"What? Hell Hounds?" John asked.
"Hell Labradoodles!" Cunningham shot back, "They'll drag you straight into the Pit and look fashionably adorable while doing so!"
The men leapt back into their golf cart and sped away. John was left pondering whether leaping the fence and kicking all their asses was worth risking the wrath of the Hell Labradoodles.
"Trust me, it's not worth it," a voice spoke from behind him. "Those manicured claws really leave a mark!"
John turned to see an older man with a neatly trimmed grey beard casually strolling his way.
The man spoke with a mild Scottish accent and had an air of genuine class that separated him from the rude snobbery of the four he had just met. And yet, John couldn't help but notice that his latest acquaintance was standing on his side of the fence.
"It's never fun to be the new guy, is it?" the man asked giving John a friendly smile, "I thought you might like to stop by my house for a spot of tea… though I'm afraid freeze dried instant is the best I have to offer."
"A beer would be nice right about now," John chuckled.
"HA! Good luck finding such a fine beverage on this side of the tracks," the man laughed, then extended his hand, "The name's Jones, by the way. Dr. Henry Jones, Sr.
Continued in Chapter 3