Fic: Willing to Sacrifice (The Cold as Ice Remix)
Title: Willing to Sacrifice (The Cold as Ice Remix)
Author: joans23
Pairing: Gen
Rating: PG
Original Story: when you gonna love you as much as i do by maerhys47
Summary: It's just like any other time John comes back to his boys - until it's not.
Notes: Written for kamikazeremix. Beta by the ever wonderful kkgee. What would I do without you, sweetheart?!?!? Title by Foreigner, because I can.
"Boys," John called as soon as they stepped inside, stomping their feet to rid them of the snow caked around their boots. He'd left the boys on their own to run drills through the snow, making the most of the harsh Minnesota winter while they could. It wasn't anything new. Hell, he'd been leaving them alone while he took care of hunts since Sam was a baby. But today. Today he had a bad feeling. Jim closed the door behind them. It did little to stave off the winter's chill, already so deeply imbedded in his bones he couldn't imagine ever being warm again.
"In here, sir," Dean's voice rang out. Light and the sounds of cooking spilled warm down the hallway, guiding them towards the kitchen.
Dean was slicing bread while Sam stirred the stew slowly heating on the back burner. Sam was wearing one of Dean's shirts. He snuck a look at John over his shoulder, noticed the look Dean shot him, and went back to stirring, dropping his chin to hide his sullen expression along with the cuts and bruises on his face.
John felt his heart stutter and start in his chest.
It took John three steps to close the distance to his younger son. Sam heard him coming, dropped the spoon and whirled around to face his father. John took hold of his chin, forcing Sam up onto his toes as he inspected the damage.
"Dean, what the hell happened?"
"Sir," Dean said, then paused. The boy wouldn't hide anything from him, wouldn't lie, but something had him hesitating.
"Dean?" John prompted. Sam managed to wrench loose from John's hold and retreated to stand against the counter, glaring at Dean and shooting him pleading looks in an odd combination that set John's teeth on edge.
"I wasn't paying attention," Dean said, drawing himself up to his full height and squaring his shoulders to face his father. "I almost let him fall in the river. I'm sorry, sir, it won't ever happen again."
"No, it won't," John said. He was relying on Dean to keep Sam safe, goddamnit. Dean didn't elaborate on what almost meant, no matter how much John wanted to know what damage was hidden beneath Sam's clothes; they were excuses he refused to make. He just stood there, silently waiting for his punishment, needing John to absolve him of his crime. "You'll be doing them again tomorrow, double time. By yourself this time, since I can't trust you with something as simple as watching your brother."
"I don't need watching," Sam spit, his fuse predictably lit. "I'm not a fucking baby."
"Watch your language, boy," John warned. "And ending up in the river while running simple drills would suggest otherwise."
"Simple? They could've gotten us both killed. And now you're sending Dean out there again. Alone."
"I'm sending Dean so he'll learn. You both need to learn. I'm saving your lives."
Sam knew this, John was sure. Knew as well as any of them the dangers of this life and that they needed to be prepared. If John had his way, it would always be the three of them, hunting together, saving people like the family he and Jim rid of a poltergeist today. But John didn't harbour any illusions, he fully expected not to survive this fight. So they had to be ready, had to take care of each other. John needed it to be them against the world, and if it included having his sons united against him, so be it.
Sam gave a bitter little laugh, sounding weary beyond his years. "You call this living?"
He was pushing John's buttons, going for the big blowout. John knew it, but he let him do it anyway.
"Sam," Dean said, soft and low, and it reined Sam in. It almost always did.
John knew how much Sam looked up to Dean. He still looked at Dean with the same hero-worship he had as a two-year old, the first time John had left them alone to go on a hunt. Dean saved his life by protecting him from the vengeful spirit that had tried to take his youngest when John had set out to burn her bones. John came back reeking of smoke and grave dust and found them still huddled inside the near-perfect ring of salt. John lifted his sons up into his arms, but no matter how hard he tried, couldn't pry the little six-year old's arms from around his baby brother's body. Sam would not be moved either, tiny hands locked around his big brother's neck, holding tight to the newly-affirmed center of his universe.
Sam just worked harder at hiding it now.
John still saw it. Watched Sam watching Dean, the war raging in his son's heart written all over his face plain as day; torn between wanting to be exactly like his big brother and needing to be the exact opposite.
Dean was John's little soldier, ready for action from day one. Sam was strong, as much a warrior as his elder brother, but he was also the heart that held them together. That made them a family. He's what made them willing to die to keep it together.
"Let's eat," Jim said, signaling the end of their small battle. "It smells great and I'm starving."
Sam got the plates and held them as Dean dished the stew straight from the pot.
Jim clasped his hands in front of him, and they waited respectfully as he silently offered a quiet benediction.
"Tell us about the poltergeist," Dean said around a mouthful of stew, bread already sweeping through the brown mess to mop another helping into his mouth. Despite the tension that was still stretched tight between them, kid was practically bouncing in his seat, finally letting his excitement at the hunt he was denied bleed through.
"Not much to tell," John said. His voice sounded gruff, even to his own ears. "We got it."
"Come on," Dean needled and after a few more good-natured pokes and prods, John gave in and told them how they cleansed the house. The boys did need to learn after all.
Neither of the boys said much while they ate; Dean too busy listening, Sam brooding as he pushed the food around on his plate. The bruises on his face stood out in stark relief against the paleness of his skin, seeming to darken and expand under the dim gleam of the overhead bulb. John caught the grimaces he couldn't conceal every time he managed to lift the fork up to his mouth.
Halfway through dinner the storm, which had been steadily building in strength since their arrival, knocked out the power and Jim got some candles from the sideboard that Dean lit with the Bic lighter he'd taken to keeping in the back pocket of his jeans.
Snared together by the narrow nimbus of light, they finished their meal in silence. Afterwards, John had Sam unpack their gear, spreading the knives and guns they had along out on the table as Dean cleared and washed the dishes. John could see everything even the simple task took out of Sam, but his boy would be the first to call him on it if he took it any easier on him.
"Time for bed," John said and only waved a hand at Dean's expected insistance on helping to clean the weapons.
The only thing John needed Dean to take care of now, was his brother.
"Only half an hour of reading, Sam," John said. "There aren't any more candles and we don't know how long the power's gonna stay out."
Sam didn't say anything, but John knew Dean wouldn't let him stray too far past the set curfew.
John kept to the same time limit he set his sons, working quickly to finish cleaning and packing his weapons away before the half hour was spent. He said goodnight to Jim and navigated his way down the dark corridor towards the small room at the back of the house that was his while they stayed with the pastor. He paused in the stripe of candle light that still spilled faintly from the crack in the door to his sons' room.
They were sitting on the twin bed they were forced to share, Sam leaning against the headboard with a book held perilously close to the candle and much to close to his eyes. Dean was sitting nearer to the foot, his favourite gun in hand as he stripped and cleaned it. As John was about to turn away, Sam stretched his legs out towards Dean, bumping his feet covered by their thick woolen socks against his brother's thigh. Immediately Dean's right hand dropped, curled around Sam's ankle, gave a little squeeze and didn't let go.
John swallowed, pinched his eyes shut tightly for a moment, and went on to bed.
~End.
Author: joans23
Pairing: Gen
Rating: PG
Original Story: when you gonna love you as much as i do by maerhys47
Summary: It's just like any other time John comes back to his boys - until it's not.
Notes: Written for kamikazeremix. Beta by the ever wonderful kkgee. What would I do without you, sweetheart?!?!? Title by Foreigner, because I can.
"Boys," John called as soon as they stepped inside, stomping their feet to rid them of the snow caked around their boots. He'd left the boys on their own to run drills through the snow, making the most of the harsh Minnesota winter while they could. It wasn't anything new. Hell, he'd been leaving them alone while he took care of hunts since Sam was a baby. But today. Today he had a bad feeling. Jim closed the door behind them. It did little to stave off the winter's chill, already so deeply imbedded in his bones he couldn't imagine ever being warm again.
"In here, sir," Dean's voice rang out. Light and the sounds of cooking spilled warm down the hallway, guiding them towards the kitchen.
Dean was slicing bread while Sam stirred the stew slowly heating on the back burner. Sam was wearing one of Dean's shirts. He snuck a look at John over his shoulder, noticed the look Dean shot him, and went back to stirring, dropping his chin to hide his sullen expression along with the cuts and bruises on his face.
John felt his heart stutter and start in his chest.
It took John three steps to close the distance to his younger son. Sam heard him coming, dropped the spoon and whirled around to face his father. John took hold of his chin, forcing Sam up onto his toes as he inspected the damage.
"Dean, what the hell happened?"
"Sir," Dean said, then paused. The boy wouldn't hide anything from him, wouldn't lie, but something had him hesitating.
"Dean?" John prompted. Sam managed to wrench loose from John's hold and retreated to stand against the counter, glaring at Dean and shooting him pleading looks in an odd combination that set John's teeth on edge.
"I wasn't paying attention," Dean said, drawing himself up to his full height and squaring his shoulders to face his father. "I almost let him fall in the river. I'm sorry, sir, it won't ever happen again."
"No, it won't," John said. He was relying on Dean to keep Sam safe, goddamnit. Dean didn't elaborate on what almost meant, no matter how much John wanted to know what damage was hidden beneath Sam's clothes; they were excuses he refused to make. He just stood there, silently waiting for his punishment, needing John to absolve him of his crime. "You'll be doing them again tomorrow, double time. By yourself this time, since I can't trust you with something as simple as watching your brother."
"I don't need watching," Sam spit, his fuse predictably lit. "I'm not a fucking baby."
"Watch your language, boy," John warned. "And ending up in the river while running simple drills would suggest otherwise."
"Simple? They could've gotten us both killed. And now you're sending Dean out there again. Alone."
"I'm sending Dean so he'll learn. You both need to learn. I'm saving your lives."
Sam knew this, John was sure. Knew as well as any of them the dangers of this life and that they needed to be prepared. If John had his way, it would always be the three of them, hunting together, saving people like the family he and Jim rid of a poltergeist today. But John didn't harbour any illusions, he fully expected not to survive this fight. So they had to be ready, had to take care of each other. John needed it to be them against the world, and if it included having his sons united against him, so be it.
Sam gave a bitter little laugh, sounding weary beyond his years. "You call this living?"
He was pushing John's buttons, going for the big blowout. John knew it, but he let him do it anyway.
"Sam," Dean said, soft and low, and it reined Sam in. It almost always did.
John knew how much Sam looked up to Dean. He still looked at Dean with the same hero-worship he had as a two-year old, the first time John had left them alone to go on a hunt. Dean saved his life by protecting him from the vengeful spirit that had tried to take his youngest when John had set out to burn her bones. John came back reeking of smoke and grave dust and found them still huddled inside the near-perfect ring of salt. John lifted his sons up into his arms, but no matter how hard he tried, couldn't pry the little six-year old's arms from around his baby brother's body. Sam would not be moved either, tiny hands locked around his big brother's neck, holding tight to the newly-affirmed center of his universe.
Sam just worked harder at hiding it now.
John still saw it. Watched Sam watching Dean, the war raging in his son's heart written all over his face plain as day; torn between wanting to be exactly like his big brother and needing to be the exact opposite.
Dean was John's little soldier, ready for action from day one. Sam was strong, as much a warrior as his elder brother, but he was also the heart that held them together. That made them a family. He's what made them willing to die to keep it together.
"Let's eat," Jim said, signaling the end of their small battle. "It smells great and I'm starving."
Sam got the plates and held them as Dean dished the stew straight from the pot.
Jim clasped his hands in front of him, and they waited respectfully as he silently offered a quiet benediction.
"Tell us about the poltergeist," Dean said around a mouthful of stew, bread already sweeping through the brown mess to mop another helping into his mouth. Despite the tension that was still stretched tight between them, kid was practically bouncing in his seat, finally letting his excitement at the hunt he was denied bleed through.
"Not much to tell," John said. His voice sounded gruff, even to his own ears. "We got it."
"Come on," Dean needled and after a few more good-natured pokes and prods, John gave in and told them how they cleansed the house. The boys did need to learn after all.
Neither of the boys said much while they ate; Dean too busy listening, Sam brooding as he pushed the food around on his plate. The bruises on his face stood out in stark relief against the paleness of his skin, seeming to darken and expand under the dim gleam of the overhead bulb. John caught the grimaces he couldn't conceal every time he managed to lift the fork up to his mouth.
Halfway through dinner the storm, which had been steadily building in strength since their arrival, knocked out the power and Jim got some candles from the sideboard that Dean lit with the Bic lighter he'd taken to keeping in the back pocket of his jeans.
Snared together by the narrow nimbus of light, they finished their meal in silence. Afterwards, John had Sam unpack their gear, spreading the knives and guns they had along out on the table as Dean cleared and washed the dishes. John could see everything even the simple task took out of Sam, but his boy would be the first to call him on it if he took it any easier on him.
"Time for bed," John said and only waved a hand at Dean's expected insistance on helping to clean the weapons.
The only thing John needed Dean to take care of now, was his brother.
"Only half an hour of reading, Sam," John said. "There aren't any more candles and we don't know how long the power's gonna stay out."
Sam didn't say anything, but John knew Dean wouldn't let him stray too far past the set curfew.
John kept to the same time limit he set his sons, working quickly to finish cleaning and packing his weapons away before the half hour was spent. He said goodnight to Jim and navigated his way down the dark corridor towards the small room at the back of the house that was his while they stayed with the pastor. He paused in the stripe of candle light that still spilled faintly from the crack in the door to his sons' room.
They were sitting on the twin bed they were forced to share, Sam leaning against the headboard with a book held perilously close to the candle and much to close to his eyes. Dean was sitting nearer to the foot, his favourite gun in hand as he stripped and cleaned it. As John was about to turn away, Sam stretched his legs out towards Dean, bumping his feet covered by their thick woolen socks against his brother's thigh. Immediately Dean's right hand dropped, curled around Sam's ankle, gave a little squeeze and didn't let go.
John swallowed, pinched his eyes shut tightly for a moment, and went on to bed.
~End.