Werewolf 'Verse: Family
Title: Family
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: PG-13
Summary: When it comes down to it, family is all that matters.
Author's Notes: The fourteenth and offically final installment of my Werewolf 'Verse. Please review.
Disclaimer: Everything Supernatural related belongs to Eric Kripke and the CW. Lucky bastards.
Dedication: Happy birthday, Katie_the_Sith! I love you, darlin'!
~Awesome banner made for me by catnmaus. You rock, hon! =)~
From the moment that John found out that he and Mary were going to have their first baby, his emotions started running wild. He was excited, thinking over and over I’m going to be a daddy, but at the same time he was also scared. What if he wasn’t a good father?
John’s own dad, David, had been the best. He’d taught John sports and how to take care of a car from the first moments that he showed an interest in either. David had always been there for John and his mother when they had needed him, and still found time to work in order to put food on the table. He was also there for John when he had decided to join the Marines, encouraging him and looking so proud whenever he saw John in his uniform.
John’s anxiety increased the closer that Mary got to her birthing date, and even more so when she was admitted to the hospital.
However as soon as the doctor handed him Dean, all of John’s fears melted like snow under the sun. The little baby was absolutely perfect. And he was so tiny and delicate that John sat down to hold him for fear of causing him any harm.
“He’s going to have your eyes,” Mary had said, tired but happy as she watched the two of them from the hospital bed.
Dean’s eyes were still dark, as all baby’s were born with, but John couldn’t help hoping it was true. He carefully handed the sleepy infant to his mother, and stroked his fingers over Mary’s wrist being careful of the hydration iv still sticking out the back of her hand.
“He’s beautiful, Mary. Our Dean.”
She smiled, tears of joy in her eyes.
As soon as Dean could walk, John was taking him to antique car shows and rolling a baseball with him. Since he was too young for throwing. Dean was with John when he bought the Impala too, and although at the time she needed work he was thrilled that Dean had already been taken with her.
“Car, car!” the two year old squealed in delight. Although it came out more like “cah”.
Dean insisted on being by John’s side as he worked on the Impala from day one, and quickly learned what tool was what so that he could hand them to his father as he asked for them.
When the day came that Sam was born, John wasn’t nearly as nervous. Dean was four by then so he had a pretty good idea of what he was doing. However while he and Mary could give Dean all their attention when he was a baby, Sam was another situation altogether.
Dean was a big ball of curious energy, getting into everything he shouldn’t and constantly making messes. He loved to tease Sam, too.
John would come into the house, tired after a long day at the garage to find Dean shaking Sam’s toy just out of his reach causing the baby to cry. Dean would wait until Mary was out of earshot to start the taunt, and so he would always look guilty at John upon being caught in the act.
After a little while of the repeated behavior, John had taken Dean aside as Mary soothed the once more crying Sam.
“Dean,” he said gently, sitting his oldest boy on his knee, “why are you acting this way towards your brother?”
“Sammy’s not playing right, daddy,” Dean pouted. “I’m just showing him how. S’not my fault he cries always.”
“He’s just a baby, Dean. He doesn’t know any better.” As Dean continued to sulk, John was struck with an idea. “Listen, you’re a big boy aren’t you?”
Dean nodded, looking a little suspicious.
“Well, as a big boy I’m going to really need you to help mommy for me.”
“With what?”
“I’m at work all day, and your mom is all alone taking care of you and Sam. It’s a hard job you know, and mommy gets tired. But if you help her take care of Sam, she won’t get so worn out. Do you think you can do that for her?”
The four year old thought about this for a moment, then smiled up at John. “I’ll help take care of Sammy,” he promised. “I’ll do a good job, too.”
John hugged him, then Dean hopped down from his knee and raced out of the room.
Problem solved.
Dean was true to his word - looking out for Sam even as the Winchester family was pulled from the life they knew after Mary’s death.
John had never been so scared as the night he’d realized the Shtriga was going to go after his children. He’d burned rubber in his haste to get home, and burst into the motel room just in time to see that sonofabitch hovering over Sam, taking his little boy’s life away from him. John knew he was harsh with Dean that night, but as he held Sammy tightly in his arms all he could think about was the other children who had been attacked. They never survived, and John had been just minutes from being one of those parents mourning the death of their babies. Truth be told he was more angry at himself than at Dean. He was angry that he’d taken so long to realize just who the next target would be, angry that he’d almost been too late. Sam had been so close to death that night, and John never wanted to see that happen ever again. Ever.
The good thing that came out of that, was that Dean was even better at watching Sam than ever before. He hardly let his brother out of his sight, and John allowed his anger to dissipate with that realization.
Knowing that he could once again count on Dean to watch the youngest member of their family, John allowed himself to become consumed with the thought of revenge once more. Once he’d learned about supernatural hunting after Mary’s death, he had thrown himself into it headfirst and that had not changed in the slightest. His boys growing up happened more in the background to him, and looking back on it now John wasn’t sure how he ever thought that was unimportant.
At the time however, it was natural to just allow Dean to continue to take care of Sam. To be honest, Dean took care of John too. He was always ready for his father when he came home late at night to take care of any wounds or to merely get him a drink.
Dean became the glue that held them all together, so John foolishly allowed himself to disappear for longer periods of time than he should have. He missed all sorts of holidays and events, and pretended that he didn’t notice Sam’s anger or hurt towards him when he would return.
His youngest was getting older, and in the process he was becoming more and more bitter towards the life they led. John knew it, and yet he still continued to ignore it.
Sometimes though… sometimes he would pull his head out of his ass and be a father again. He kept Sam’s soccer trophy long after his youngest son forgot about it, and every time he looked at it John could see in his mind’s eye Sam running down that large field with that determined but happy look on his face. He’d gotten there too late to see the whole game, so John stood just beyond the bleachers and watched Sam play.
He also remembered seeing Dean sitting in the stands, cheering loudly for his brother every time that Sam scored a goal.
Along with the trophy, John kept Dean’s first sawed-off shotgun, and when he held it in his hands he could see Dean’s young face bright with pride after he’d made it himself.
John refused to part with these mementos because at one point they had meant everything to his boys, and in turn his boys meant everything to him. Even when he hadn’t been the best father.
But Dean despised him now, and although John didn’t think that Sam felt exactly the same as his brother things were never going to be how they’d once been. It was ironic, really. All growing up, Dean idolized John. He knew it, and although he didn’t acknowledge the fact he felt a sense of pride that his oldest wanted to be like him. Sam on the other hand was constantly arguing with John about everything. Moving, staying, hunting, their every day lives. Yet now he was the one who still thought of all of them as a family.
They were far from that now. Dean and Sam were more than brothers and they no longer needed John in their lives. John couldn’t help but wonder if Mary would handle the situation differently. If she would condemn her sons’ actions or if she would at least find relief in the knowledge that they would at least remain together.
John had just been as scared as Dean when he’d learned that the Benders had taken Sam, especially knowing what they had done to previous game.
He’d killed the father without remorse, and couldn’t even find it in himself to feel like a hypocrite. He’d demanded Dean and Sam stop the killing and had meant it, but the way that Bender had spoke of his regret to not be able to kill Sam properly just sent John into protective father mode, and he’d pulled the trigger of his gun to end the bastard’s mocking laughter before he could even think about it.
Even as he’d watched the light fade from Bender’s eyes, and the blood pool underneath his body, John wasn’t sorry.
However he could in no right mind ignore the jogger killings that had taken over the news. Four people had been attacked by an animal of some sort, the slayings so horrible that the very chest cavity was torn apart.
The very thought of it made John sick. He’d gone undercover into one of the sights and seen for himself, quickly realizing that the heart was missing while the rest of the corpse was virtually untouched. This lead him to believe some sort of ritual was taking place, and as he studied the other deaths his thoughts were simply confirmed.
In his own heart, John knew who was doing it. He wasn’t even sure if it was fatherly or hunter instinct. Whatever it was, John was certain his eldest son was involved if not both his boys. What he wasn’t sure about, was the exact reason behind the slayings beyond the ritual.
John spent hours upon hours studying the cases to try to figure out where the next attack would take place. He knew there would be a fifth one - again as attributed to instinct.
Finally he pinpointed where he believed it to be, and grabbed his gun on the way out the door.
For a moment, when Sam told him about Dean’s impending death, John understood his son’s motives. Despite the fact he’d belittled Sam’s decision he wondered if perhaps he would have done something similar.
If he had the power to stop either Sam or Dean’s death, even if it meant condemning himself, would he do it?
Sam’s words about Dean’s importance stung, but John could not find it in himself to be surprised. His own actions over the years, being a distant drill sergeant, had literally shoved both of them together. Made them depend on each other and not need anyone else. Himself included.
John’s hold on his rifle faltered unnoticed for just a moment, before he tightened his jaw and aimed it at his youngest son.
“That’s where you’re wrong.” He pulled the trigger.
“NO!” Dean shouted as Sam’s body flew back from the force of the impact. Although still obviously weak, Dean scrambled to his feet and ran over to where his brother was laying. “Sam? Sammy!”
Beneath Dean’s frantic hands, Sam groaned and coughed, picking up his head a little before flopping back down with a wince.
Suddenly Dean realized through his panic that he could only smell faint traces of blood, mixed with rock salt. Startled, confused and afraid to be relieved, he yanked up his brother’s shirt to look at his chest.
Where there should have been a rifle bullet hole, instead there were a bunch of little holes from which Sam was bleeding from yes, but it was nothing critical.
Sliding his arm beneath Sam’s neck, Dean helped his brother sit up and together they both looked at John incredulously.
John held their gazes with his own, the shotgun limp in his hand. “I kept trying to tell myself that you weren’t my sons anymore,” he said, “but no matter how I want to feel that’s not true. I can’t erase all the years that have gone by, all the memories that I have of the two of you. We’re still family, and although I cannot bring myself to truly understand what you have done to others and to each other, I can’t hunt you. I can’t kill you.”
He sat down heavily on a fallen log, eyes drawn to the smudged markings displayed on the ground. Dean had destroyed them when he’d rushed to his brother’s side.
The action in itself was appropriate.
John looked up to see his boys still watching him. Sam’s eyes were understanding despite the pain in his chest, and Dean’s were calculating and still slightly wary as he remained protectively close to his brother. He obviously was unsure whether to take John’s word for it despite his actions.
“Your mother..” John hesitated, “she would just want you to be happy. She’d always say how much family was important to her. We decided to have two children because we always wanted to make sure that even after we were gone, they would still have someone to rely on. And you do. I’m just.. I’m sorry that it had to be this way. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect either of you. That I was never there.”
“Don’t be,” Sam said, voice a little hoarse. He struggled to sit up further, and Dean shifted to better support him. “Don’t be sorry, dad. We’re not. Not anymore.” Sam smiled weakly. “Dean and I know that you did your best, under the circumstances. Besides things could have been a lot worse growing up.”
John stared at his youngest in surprise. The acceptance, the understanding, it was all so different from what he had expected. Sam, it seemed, had grown up a lot since he had become a werewolf. Or perhaps it was because of it.
“We’ve all changed,” Dean said as if hearing John’s thoughts. He always was good at reading the emotions on his family’s faces. “It’s for the better, John.” There was a challenge in Dean’s eyes, as if daring his father to disagree.
John looked down at his forgotten rifle, the metal cool beneath his fingertips. “Dean, you always were smarter than people gave you credit for.”
Dean snorted at that, but the sound was more amused than angry. “I’m not just looks, you know.”
John met his gaze once more, and grinned. “No,” he agreed, “but you do have my eyes.”
END
AN: That’s it, the werewolf ‘verse (and my first fic in this fandom) is officially over! *collapses* I may decide to play with it more down the road. You know, one shots here and there to keep it alive but for now, this is the ending. Thank you to everyone who stuck with me even through the months of hiatus. I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know ;)
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: PG-13
Summary: When it comes down to it, family is all that matters.
Author's Notes: The fourteenth and offically final installment of my Werewolf 'Verse. Please review.
Disclaimer: Everything Supernatural related belongs to Eric Kripke and the CW. Lucky bastards.
Dedication: Happy birthday, Katie_the_Sith! I love you, darlin'!
~Awesome banner made for me by catnmaus. You rock, hon! =)~
From the moment that John found out that he and Mary were going to have their first baby, his emotions started running wild. He was excited, thinking over and over I’m going to be a daddy, but at the same time he was also scared. What if he wasn’t a good father?
John’s own dad, David, had been the best. He’d taught John sports and how to take care of a car from the first moments that he showed an interest in either. David had always been there for John and his mother when they had needed him, and still found time to work in order to put food on the table. He was also there for John when he had decided to join the Marines, encouraging him and looking so proud whenever he saw John in his uniform.
John’s anxiety increased the closer that Mary got to her birthing date, and even more so when she was admitted to the hospital.
However as soon as the doctor handed him Dean, all of John’s fears melted like snow under the sun. The little baby was absolutely perfect. And he was so tiny and delicate that John sat down to hold him for fear of causing him any harm.
“He’s going to have your eyes,” Mary had said, tired but happy as she watched the two of them from the hospital bed.
Dean’s eyes were still dark, as all baby’s were born with, but John couldn’t help hoping it was true. He carefully handed the sleepy infant to his mother, and stroked his fingers over Mary’s wrist being careful of the hydration iv still sticking out the back of her hand.
“He’s beautiful, Mary. Our Dean.”
She smiled, tears of joy in her eyes.
As soon as Dean could walk, John was taking him to antique car shows and rolling a baseball with him. Since he was too young for throwing. Dean was with John when he bought the Impala too, and although at the time she needed work he was thrilled that Dean had already been taken with her.
“Car, car!” the two year old squealed in delight. Although it came out more like “cah”.
Dean insisted on being by John’s side as he worked on the Impala from day one, and quickly learned what tool was what so that he could hand them to his father as he asked for them.
When the day came that Sam was born, John wasn’t nearly as nervous. Dean was four by then so he had a pretty good idea of what he was doing. However while he and Mary could give Dean all their attention when he was a baby, Sam was another situation altogether.
Dean was a big ball of curious energy, getting into everything he shouldn’t and constantly making messes. He loved to tease Sam, too.
John would come into the house, tired after a long day at the garage to find Dean shaking Sam’s toy just out of his reach causing the baby to cry. Dean would wait until Mary was out of earshot to start the taunt, and so he would always look guilty at John upon being caught in the act.
After a little while of the repeated behavior, John had taken Dean aside as Mary soothed the once more crying Sam.
“Dean,” he said gently, sitting his oldest boy on his knee, “why are you acting this way towards your brother?”
“Sammy’s not playing right, daddy,” Dean pouted. “I’m just showing him how. S’not my fault he cries always.”
“He’s just a baby, Dean. He doesn’t know any better.” As Dean continued to sulk, John was struck with an idea. “Listen, you’re a big boy aren’t you?”
Dean nodded, looking a little suspicious.
“Well, as a big boy I’m going to really need you to help mommy for me.”
“With what?”
“I’m at work all day, and your mom is all alone taking care of you and Sam. It’s a hard job you know, and mommy gets tired. But if you help her take care of Sam, she won’t get so worn out. Do you think you can do that for her?”
The four year old thought about this for a moment, then smiled up at John. “I’ll help take care of Sammy,” he promised. “I’ll do a good job, too.”
John hugged him, then Dean hopped down from his knee and raced out of the room.
Problem solved.
Dean was true to his word - looking out for Sam even as the Winchester family was pulled from the life they knew after Mary’s death.
John had never been so scared as the night he’d realized the Shtriga was going to go after his children. He’d burned rubber in his haste to get home, and burst into the motel room just in time to see that sonofabitch hovering over Sam, taking his little boy’s life away from him. John knew he was harsh with Dean that night, but as he held Sammy tightly in his arms all he could think about was the other children who had been attacked. They never survived, and John had been just minutes from being one of those parents mourning the death of their babies. Truth be told he was more angry at himself than at Dean. He was angry that he’d taken so long to realize just who the next target would be, angry that he’d almost been too late. Sam had been so close to death that night, and John never wanted to see that happen ever again. Ever.
The good thing that came out of that, was that Dean was even better at watching Sam than ever before. He hardly let his brother out of his sight, and John allowed his anger to dissipate with that realization.
Knowing that he could once again count on Dean to watch the youngest member of their family, John allowed himself to become consumed with the thought of revenge once more. Once he’d learned about supernatural hunting after Mary’s death, he had thrown himself into it headfirst and that had not changed in the slightest. His boys growing up happened more in the background to him, and looking back on it now John wasn’t sure how he ever thought that was unimportant.
At the time however, it was natural to just allow Dean to continue to take care of Sam. To be honest, Dean took care of John too. He was always ready for his father when he came home late at night to take care of any wounds or to merely get him a drink.
Dean became the glue that held them all together, so John foolishly allowed himself to disappear for longer periods of time than he should have. He missed all sorts of holidays and events, and pretended that he didn’t notice Sam’s anger or hurt towards him when he would return.
His youngest was getting older, and in the process he was becoming more and more bitter towards the life they led. John knew it, and yet he still continued to ignore it.
Sometimes though… sometimes he would pull his head out of his ass and be a father again. He kept Sam’s soccer trophy long after his youngest son forgot about it, and every time he looked at it John could see in his mind’s eye Sam running down that large field with that determined but happy look on his face. He’d gotten there too late to see the whole game, so John stood just beyond the bleachers and watched Sam play.
He also remembered seeing Dean sitting in the stands, cheering loudly for his brother every time that Sam scored a goal.
Along with the trophy, John kept Dean’s first sawed-off shotgun, and when he held it in his hands he could see Dean’s young face bright with pride after he’d made it himself.
John refused to part with these mementos because at one point they had meant everything to his boys, and in turn his boys meant everything to him. Even when he hadn’t been the best father.
But Dean despised him now, and although John didn’t think that Sam felt exactly the same as his brother things were never going to be how they’d once been. It was ironic, really. All growing up, Dean idolized John. He knew it, and although he didn’t acknowledge the fact he felt a sense of pride that his oldest wanted to be like him. Sam on the other hand was constantly arguing with John about everything. Moving, staying, hunting, their every day lives. Yet now he was the one who still thought of all of them as a family.
They were far from that now. Dean and Sam were more than brothers and they no longer needed John in their lives. John couldn’t help but wonder if Mary would handle the situation differently. If she would condemn her sons’ actions or if she would at least find relief in the knowledge that they would at least remain together.
John had just been as scared as Dean when he’d learned that the Benders had taken Sam, especially knowing what they had done to previous game.
He’d killed the father without remorse, and couldn’t even find it in himself to feel like a hypocrite. He’d demanded Dean and Sam stop the killing and had meant it, but the way that Bender had spoke of his regret to not be able to kill Sam properly just sent John into protective father mode, and he’d pulled the trigger of his gun to end the bastard’s mocking laughter before he could even think about it.
Even as he’d watched the light fade from Bender’s eyes, and the blood pool underneath his body, John wasn’t sorry.
However he could in no right mind ignore the jogger killings that had taken over the news. Four people had been attacked by an animal of some sort, the slayings so horrible that the very chest cavity was torn apart.
The very thought of it made John sick. He’d gone undercover into one of the sights and seen for himself, quickly realizing that the heart was missing while the rest of the corpse was virtually untouched. This lead him to believe some sort of ritual was taking place, and as he studied the other deaths his thoughts were simply confirmed.
In his own heart, John knew who was doing it. He wasn’t even sure if it was fatherly or hunter instinct. Whatever it was, John was certain his eldest son was involved if not both his boys. What he wasn’t sure about, was the exact reason behind the slayings beyond the ritual.
John spent hours upon hours studying the cases to try to figure out where the next attack would take place. He knew there would be a fifth one - again as attributed to instinct.
Finally he pinpointed where he believed it to be, and grabbed his gun on the way out the door.
For a moment, when Sam told him about Dean’s impending death, John understood his son’s motives. Despite the fact he’d belittled Sam’s decision he wondered if perhaps he would have done something similar.
If he had the power to stop either Sam or Dean’s death, even if it meant condemning himself, would he do it?
Sam’s words about Dean’s importance stung, but John could not find it in himself to be surprised. His own actions over the years, being a distant drill sergeant, had literally shoved both of them together. Made them depend on each other and not need anyone else. Himself included.
John’s hold on his rifle faltered unnoticed for just a moment, before he tightened his jaw and aimed it at his youngest son.
“That’s where you’re wrong.” He pulled the trigger.
“NO!” Dean shouted as Sam’s body flew back from the force of the impact. Although still obviously weak, Dean scrambled to his feet and ran over to where his brother was laying. “Sam? Sammy!”
Beneath Dean’s frantic hands, Sam groaned and coughed, picking up his head a little before flopping back down with a wince.
Suddenly Dean realized through his panic that he could only smell faint traces of blood, mixed with rock salt. Startled, confused and afraid to be relieved, he yanked up his brother’s shirt to look at his chest.
Where there should have been a rifle bullet hole, instead there were a bunch of little holes from which Sam was bleeding from yes, but it was nothing critical.
Sliding his arm beneath Sam’s neck, Dean helped his brother sit up and together they both looked at John incredulously.
John held their gazes with his own, the shotgun limp in his hand. “I kept trying to tell myself that you weren’t my sons anymore,” he said, “but no matter how I want to feel that’s not true. I can’t erase all the years that have gone by, all the memories that I have of the two of you. We’re still family, and although I cannot bring myself to truly understand what you have done to others and to each other, I can’t hunt you. I can’t kill you.”
He sat down heavily on a fallen log, eyes drawn to the smudged markings displayed on the ground. Dean had destroyed them when he’d rushed to his brother’s side.
The action in itself was appropriate.
John looked up to see his boys still watching him. Sam’s eyes were understanding despite the pain in his chest, and Dean’s were calculating and still slightly wary as he remained protectively close to his brother. He obviously was unsure whether to take John’s word for it despite his actions.
“Your mother..” John hesitated, “she would just want you to be happy. She’d always say how much family was important to her. We decided to have two children because we always wanted to make sure that even after we were gone, they would still have someone to rely on. And you do. I’m just.. I’m sorry that it had to be this way. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect either of you. That I was never there.”
“Don’t be,” Sam said, voice a little hoarse. He struggled to sit up further, and Dean shifted to better support him. “Don’t be sorry, dad. We’re not. Not anymore.” Sam smiled weakly. “Dean and I know that you did your best, under the circumstances. Besides things could have been a lot worse growing up.”
John stared at his youngest in surprise. The acceptance, the understanding, it was all so different from what he had expected. Sam, it seemed, had grown up a lot since he had become a werewolf. Or perhaps it was because of it.
“We’ve all changed,” Dean said as if hearing John’s thoughts. He always was good at reading the emotions on his family’s faces. “It’s for the better, John.” There was a challenge in Dean’s eyes, as if daring his father to disagree.
John looked down at his forgotten rifle, the metal cool beneath his fingertips. “Dean, you always were smarter than people gave you credit for.”
Dean snorted at that, but the sound was more amused than angry. “I’m not just looks, you know.”
John met his gaze once more, and grinned. “No,” he agreed, “but you do have my eyes.”
END
AN: That’s it, the werewolf ‘verse (and my first fic in this fandom) is officially over! *collapses* I may decide to play with it more down the road. You know, one shots here and there to keep it alive but for now, this is the ending. Thank you to everyone who stuck with me even through the months of hiatus. I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know ;)