First, for a Change, for rainylemons
Title: First, for a Change
Author: boothwasframed
Recipient:Rainylemons
Rating: T
Wordcount: ~2,000
Warnings: Memories of hell, mentions of flashbacks and PTSD. Darkfic, father hurting a child (though grown). Death/murder.
Summary: John Winchester comes back from hell, but it’s not the same man we used to know. AU where Dean didn't break in hell, but instead was rescued by Castiel. Diverges from canon after season three.
After that angel dude pulls him out of hell, Dean gets sick for a while. He doesn't remember a lot of it, Sam said that he had a pretty high fever for most of the time, but when he did come back to himself he was in an old bed in Bobby's spare bedroom, and the old man was asleep leaned over the bed, Dean's hand clasped firmly in his own. He'd said nothing when Dean had woken him, just kissed his forehead and said, "Thank God."
Neither Bobby nor Sam said much about his illness, but when Dean was finally well enough to listen, they told him the story of how he came to be pulled out of hell and deposited on Bobby's front porch. He still has the souvenir, the brand on his shoulder in the shape of a hand.
They settle down in a little place in Kentucky. It's no Kansas, but there's a two story house with a room for him and Sam, a garage for his baby, and three acres of land for them to do whatever they want with.
They get a dog, a German Shepard, mostly for him, but Sam likes him too. Ace is good with him, looks after him when the memories of hell get to be too much and his mind goes somewhere his body can't follow.
But Ace makes it more bearable, being able to bury his face in sun warmed fur and doggy smell while his memories sort themselves out and he remembers that he's here now and safe, and nothing to worry about but dinner tonight and finishing Mrs. Lawrence's car for her by six.
He pets the dog affectionately as he stands up, Ace licking his hand faithfully and following him back into the garage.
It's the alternator, a bit of a pain to pull out, but easy enough to fix, and the car is done by five. Sammy's usually home 'round six, so he gets the ground beef and starts making the fixings for tacos, so they can eat when he gets home.
Sam's got an office in town now, and he spends most of his days doing divorces and marriage certificates, and helping people sue their neighbors over the fence lines. Every once and a while he gets a defense gig when Sheriff Dawes drags an assault or drunk and disorderly in, but that's rare. Still, they make enough to get by, plus a little extra, which, when it doesn't go to vet bills or Dean's meds, or dry cleaning for Sammy, goes to a retirement fund for the two of them.
He'd got that set up, he'd always been good with money, and he's the one who does the grocery shopping and the budget and everything too. Sam had left that in his control, and it had made him feel good, in a way, that there were still things he could control, things he could do.
He looks up when Ace barks, and realizes he's been tuning out the phone. He grabs it with one hand while he keeps grating cheese with the other, the familiar, "Winchester Auto, this is Dean." slipping out before he even has time to think about it. He thinks maybe it's Mrs. Lawrence calling about his car, but there's no reply when he asks, "How can I help you?" just the soft static of the other line engaged.
He shrugs and hangs up the phone.
* * * *
Sam sighs as he puts the rest of his papers away. Another week done, and a whole weekend to look forward too. Dean doesn't have any new projects for the weekend, so they're thinking that tomorrow morning they might pack up and head to the lake. The fish should be biting, and Sam fries up a mean trout if he does say so himself.
He enjoys this country life, more than he thought he would. He'd wanted to settle down for a while, and though he'd been planning on a more urban area, once he saw how much Dean loved it here, he'd found himself signing the title without any complaint.
If there's one thing he hates about himself in college, it was how he treated his brother. Dean had given up pretty much everything for him and Dad, rearranged his whole life around them, and Sam hadn't given a damn. He knew Dad hadn't, had driven Dean into the ground since the moment Dean first learned how to shoot a revolver.
When he'd gotten Dean back from hell, he'd sworn that his brother was coming first for a change, and that's what he'd done. The house and the garage and the practice might never make them rich, but they made Dean happy, truly happy for the first time in twenty years, and Same can't bring himself to resent his brother for any of this.
He's just packing up when Sheriff Dawes walks in, a look on his face like Sam hasn't seen since those three girls went missing up by Shaw's Creek last summer.
(Dean had paced the floor for hours that night, terrified it was a poltergeist or vengeful ghost until Sam had gone to town and learned they'd found them, that it had just been a regular kidnapping. He'd never thought he'd be happy to report one of those, but it had taken the worry out of Dean's eyes.)
The Sheriff looks a little nervous, holding the brim of his hat in one hand before turning to Sam and saying, "There's someone in town looking for you boys."
Sam's blood turns to ice.
Dawes continues telling him, "He's tall, big guy, in his fifties maybe - Was asking in the Piggly Wiggly about where you guys lived, and well, I know how Dean gets. Didn't want him spooked if this guy turned up out of the blue."
He nods, already running through people in his mind. Not Bobby, he knew where they were, had his own key and everything. And there's no way the man wouldn't call Dean to warn him before he just drove up. He racked his brains, but he couldn't think of anyone else. All of their old hunting contacts had long since given them up, almost as soon as they'd outlived their usefulness.
Dawes seemed to think of something else, because he added, "Think he said his name was John. Didn't give a last though. Maybe we could - "
A year ago, Sam would have thought that was impossible, but now he's not sure anything is really impossible.
And if Dad's back - then things are about to get interesting.
He's in the car before Dawes can finish his sentence.
* * * *
Dean looks up when Sam's car skids into his yard, more than a little alarmed when Sam barrels in Hell for leather, one hand hovering over where Dean knows he keeps a side arm. He bursts into the kitchen, looking around wild eyed, and Dean is worried for a long minute until Sam strides forward to grasp him at both elbows. "Are you alright?"
Dean nods, vaguely, unsure as to what's got his brother going like this. He hasn't seen Sam this frantic, since the last night before he went to hell.
And his mind shies very sharply away from that thought as he whispers, "Sammy?"
Sam blows a breath out through his nose before speaking slowly, telling him, "Let's sit down for a minute, okay?"
* * * *
Dean looked stunned as he listened to Sam's recounting of what he'd heard. He wished that he could say that it was impossible, but he knew that it wasn't. He knew that the dead could come back to life, he certainly had, and it was no real surprise that someone as strong willed as Dad could do it too. Sam seemed to be waiting for a reaction, but Dean didn't have one to give to him. "I - he stood up for a minute, then said, "Mrs. Lawrence is gonna want her car. I should, um, go check it."
Sam sighs, tries to get him to sit still for a minute, to talk about this, to think for a minute, but Dean is out the door and out to the garage before Sam can say anything.
It's because of that that he's standing there when John Winchester pulls into the yard.
* * * *
When John sees Dean the first time, his breath almost stops in his chest. This is his Dean, looking quiet and content as he closes the hood to an old GM, a dog lying still at his feet. He pauses for a second, just taking in the sight of his son, as happy as John always wanted him to be.
It kills him that he's coming back here to take that away.
Dean looks up at him and his eyes widen as he whispers, "Dad."
John doesn't say anything, for a long minute, then he moves forward and grabs Dean around the shoulders (and God, the kid's gotten thin) choking out his name and holding on to him for a minute. He claps the boy on the back a few times, before they separate, asking, "Where's Sammy."
Dean swallows slowly, "In the house."
John pushes past Dean, moving towards Sam as he calls, "Better get the Impala gassed up, Dean-o. We'll move out tonight."
Dean doesn't move. Just stares at him, and John turns around, asks, "Didn't you hear?"
Dean shakes his head, "No."
"No you didn't hear?"
"No."
John stares at his son, out right stares at him, before advancing, on him, putting all his weight into the words as he asks, "What'd you say?"
Dean holds his ground, as he whispers, "No."
John's about to lose his temper, really lose it, when he hears a slow, mechanical clicking sound and turns to see his youngest cocking a shotgun on him. Sam looks at him steadily and tells him, "Get away from him."
John looks at him, steadily, before telling him, "You don't want to do this, Sam."
Sam looks at him, levelly, telling Dean, "Dean, come over here. Please."
Dean moves to obey, but before he can, John grabs him by the arm, hard enough to bruise, and Sam's blood runs cold as his father pulls a knife out of his pocket and holds it to his son's throat.
"Gas up the Impala Sam. We're getting out of here."
Sam's face was white as he put the shotgun down, as he began to walk towards his father, willing to do almost anything to get his father to pull the knife away from his brother's neck. He speaks softly, afraid to spook either one of them as he tells John, "Just pull the knife away, Dad."
But John doesn't budge, and it occurs to Sam that no matter how John got out of hell, this man, this thing, holding a knife on his brother, is not his father anymore.
Maybe that's why it's so easy for him to pull the trigger.
When Sheriff Dawes got there, he found Sam Winchester holding his brother loosely around the shoulders as he rocked him back and forth, trying to calm him down, and the man who'd been asking about them dead in the dirt. Mrs. Lawrence had called him, then booked it straight out of there, not that Dawes could blame her. As for what had happened, the bruise on Dean's arm and stripe of blood on his neck from a knife, (clearly the dead man's) told the story all by itself.
He decided that if dead men didn't need to press charges, neither did the state of Kentucky.
When Dawes and his gang had left, and he'd tucked Dean into bed with his dog and his Ativan, Sam called Bobby and told him what'd happened. Bobby hadn't seemed to be too surprised, (something that disturbed Sam more than anything else) and before they hung up, remarked that he didn't think Sam would've been able to do it.
Sam didn't respond, but in his head, he knew that there's very few people he wouldn't shoot for his brother.
He'd promised to put Dean first from now on, after all.
Author: boothwasframed
Recipient:Rainylemons
Rating: T
Wordcount: ~2,000
Warnings: Memories of hell, mentions of flashbacks and PTSD. Darkfic, father hurting a child (though grown). Death/murder.
Summary: John Winchester comes back from hell, but it’s not the same man we used to know. AU where Dean didn't break in hell, but instead was rescued by Castiel. Diverges from canon after season three.
After that angel dude pulls him out of hell, Dean gets sick for a while. He doesn't remember a lot of it, Sam said that he had a pretty high fever for most of the time, but when he did come back to himself he was in an old bed in Bobby's spare bedroom, and the old man was asleep leaned over the bed, Dean's hand clasped firmly in his own. He'd said nothing when Dean had woken him, just kissed his forehead and said, "Thank God."
Neither Bobby nor Sam said much about his illness, but when Dean was finally well enough to listen, they told him the story of how he came to be pulled out of hell and deposited on Bobby's front porch. He still has the souvenir, the brand on his shoulder in the shape of a hand.
They settle down in a little place in Kentucky. It's no Kansas, but there's a two story house with a room for him and Sam, a garage for his baby, and three acres of land for them to do whatever they want with.
They get a dog, a German Shepard, mostly for him, but Sam likes him too. Ace is good with him, looks after him when the memories of hell get to be too much and his mind goes somewhere his body can't follow.
But Ace makes it more bearable, being able to bury his face in sun warmed fur and doggy smell while his memories sort themselves out and he remembers that he's here now and safe, and nothing to worry about but dinner tonight and finishing Mrs. Lawrence's car for her by six.
He pets the dog affectionately as he stands up, Ace licking his hand faithfully and following him back into the garage.
It's the alternator, a bit of a pain to pull out, but easy enough to fix, and the car is done by five. Sammy's usually home 'round six, so he gets the ground beef and starts making the fixings for tacos, so they can eat when he gets home.
Sam's got an office in town now, and he spends most of his days doing divorces and marriage certificates, and helping people sue their neighbors over the fence lines. Every once and a while he gets a defense gig when Sheriff Dawes drags an assault or drunk and disorderly in, but that's rare. Still, they make enough to get by, plus a little extra, which, when it doesn't go to vet bills or Dean's meds, or dry cleaning for Sammy, goes to a retirement fund for the two of them.
He'd got that set up, he'd always been good with money, and he's the one who does the grocery shopping and the budget and everything too. Sam had left that in his control, and it had made him feel good, in a way, that there were still things he could control, things he could do.
He looks up when Ace barks, and realizes he's been tuning out the phone. He grabs it with one hand while he keeps grating cheese with the other, the familiar, "Winchester Auto, this is Dean." slipping out before he even has time to think about it. He thinks maybe it's Mrs. Lawrence calling about his car, but there's no reply when he asks, "How can I help you?" just the soft static of the other line engaged.
He shrugs and hangs up the phone.
* * * *
Sam sighs as he puts the rest of his papers away. Another week done, and a whole weekend to look forward too. Dean doesn't have any new projects for the weekend, so they're thinking that tomorrow morning they might pack up and head to the lake. The fish should be biting, and Sam fries up a mean trout if he does say so himself.
He enjoys this country life, more than he thought he would. He'd wanted to settle down for a while, and though he'd been planning on a more urban area, once he saw how much Dean loved it here, he'd found himself signing the title without any complaint.
If there's one thing he hates about himself in college, it was how he treated his brother. Dean had given up pretty much everything for him and Dad, rearranged his whole life around them, and Sam hadn't given a damn. He knew Dad hadn't, had driven Dean into the ground since the moment Dean first learned how to shoot a revolver.
When he'd gotten Dean back from hell, he'd sworn that his brother was coming first for a change, and that's what he'd done. The house and the garage and the practice might never make them rich, but they made Dean happy, truly happy for the first time in twenty years, and Same can't bring himself to resent his brother for any of this.
He's just packing up when Sheriff Dawes walks in, a look on his face like Sam hasn't seen since those three girls went missing up by Shaw's Creek last summer.
(Dean had paced the floor for hours that night, terrified it was a poltergeist or vengeful ghost until Sam had gone to town and learned they'd found them, that it had just been a regular kidnapping. He'd never thought he'd be happy to report one of those, but it had taken the worry out of Dean's eyes.)
The Sheriff looks a little nervous, holding the brim of his hat in one hand before turning to Sam and saying, "There's someone in town looking for you boys."
Sam's blood turns to ice.
Dawes continues telling him, "He's tall, big guy, in his fifties maybe - Was asking in the Piggly Wiggly about where you guys lived, and well, I know how Dean gets. Didn't want him spooked if this guy turned up out of the blue."
He nods, already running through people in his mind. Not Bobby, he knew where they were, had his own key and everything. And there's no way the man wouldn't call Dean to warn him before he just drove up. He racked his brains, but he couldn't think of anyone else. All of their old hunting contacts had long since given them up, almost as soon as they'd outlived their usefulness.
Dawes seemed to think of something else, because he added, "Think he said his name was John. Didn't give a last though. Maybe we could - "
A year ago, Sam would have thought that was impossible, but now he's not sure anything is really impossible.
And if Dad's back - then things are about to get interesting.
He's in the car before Dawes can finish his sentence.
* * * *
Dean looks up when Sam's car skids into his yard, more than a little alarmed when Sam barrels in Hell for leather, one hand hovering over where Dean knows he keeps a side arm. He bursts into the kitchen, looking around wild eyed, and Dean is worried for a long minute until Sam strides forward to grasp him at both elbows. "Are you alright?"
Dean nods, vaguely, unsure as to what's got his brother going like this. He hasn't seen Sam this frantic, since the last night before he went to hell.
And his mind shies very sharply away from that thought as he whispers, "Sammy?"
Sam blows a breath out through his nose before speaking slowly, telling him, "Let's sit down for a minute, okay?"
* * * *
Dean looked stunned as he listened to Sam's recounting of what he'd heard. He wished that he could say that it was impossible, but he knew that it wasn't. He knew that the dead could come back to life, he certainly had, and it was no real surprise that someone as strong willed as Dad could do it too. Sam seemed to be waiting for a reaction, but Dean didn't have one to give to him. "I - he stood up for a minute, then said, "Mrs. Lawrence is gonna want her car. I should, um, go check it."
Sam sighs, tries to get him to sit still for a minute, to talk about this, to think for a minute, but Dean is out the door and out to the garage before Sam can say anything.
It's because of that that he's standing there when John Winchester pulls into the yard.
* * * *
When John sees Dean the first time, his breath almost stops in his chest. This is his Dean, looking quiet and content as he closes the hood to an old GM, a dog lying still at his feet. He pauses for a second, just taking in the sight of his son, as happy as John always wanted him to be.
It kills him that he's coming back here to take that away.
Dean looks up at him and his eyes widen as he whispers, "Dad."
John doesn't say anything, for a long minute, then he moves forward and grabs Dean around the shoulders (and God, the kid's gotten thin) choking out his name and holding on to him for a minute. He claps the boy on the back a few times, before they separate, asking, "Where's Sammy."
Dean swallows slowly, "In the house."
John pushes past Dean, moving towards Sam as he calls, "Better get the Impala gassed up, Dean-o. We'll move out tonight."
Dean doesn't move. Just stares at him, and John turns around, asks, "Didn't you hear?"
Dean shakes his head, "No."
"No you didn't hear?"
"No."
John stares at his son, out right stares at him, before advancing, on him, putting all his weight into the words as he asks, "What'd you say?"
Dean holds his ground, as he whispers, "No."
John's about to lose his temper, really lose it, when he hears a slow, mechanical clicking sound and turns to see his youngest cocking a shotgun on him. Sam looks at him steadily and tells him, "Get away from him."
John looks at him, steadily, before telling him, "You don't want to do this, Sam."
Sam looks at him, levelly, telling Dean, "Dean, come over here. Please."
Dean moves to obey, but before he can, John grabs him by the arm, hard enough to bruise, and Sam's blood runs cold as his father pulls a knife out of his pocket and holds it to his son's throat.
"Gas up the Impala Sam. We're getting out of here."
Sam's face was white as he put the shotgun down, as he began to walk towards his father, willing to do almost anything to get his father to pull the knife away from his brother's neck. He speaks softly, afraid to spook either one of them as he tells John, "Just pull the knife away, Dad."
But John doesn't budge, and it occurs to Sam that no matter how John got out of hell, this man, this thing, holding a knife on his brother, is not his father anymore.
Maybe that's why it's so easy for him to pull the trigger.
When Sheriff Dawes got there, he found Sam Winchester holding his brother loosely around the shoulders as he rocked him back and forth, trying to calm him down, and the man who'd been asking about them dead in the dirt. Mrs. Lawrence had called him, then booked it straight out of there, not that Dawes could blame her. As for what had happened, the bruise on Dean's arm and stripe of blood on his neck from a knife, (clearly the dead man's) told the story all by itself.
He decided that if dead men didn't need to press charges, neither did the state of Kentucky.
When Dawes and his gang had left, and he'd tucked Dean into bed with his dog and his Ativan, Sam called Bobby and told him what'd happened. Bobby hadn't seemed to be too surprised, (something that disturbed Sam more than anything else) and before they hung up, remarked that he didn't think Sam would've been able to do it.
Sam didn't respond, but in his head, he knew that there's very few people he wouldn't shoot for his brother.
He'd promised to put Dean first from now on, after all.