Chapter Text
‘ And you use your pain
'Cause it makes you ‘you’
Though I wish I could hold you through it.
Better wake those demons
Just look them in the eye
No reason not to try.’
Kansas City
Victor hadn’t received any other call that night. Thanks God for that, because his mind was completely occupied by ‘John’ and his kids.
He had written down every single piece of information he had extrapolated from the phone call; then his impressions, his thoughts and, finally, he had allowed himself to speculate. Six pages and a half of his notebook were now full of possible scenarios, numbers to call in the morning, theories.
Victor was absolutely certain ‘John’ had not lied about his wife or his desire to protect the kids. He had to find that man and his family, somehow.
He fought the urge to call his supervisor straighaway to ask for help. Instead, he made what was probably the fifth cup of coffee of the night and set himself to wait patiently until the morning shift came in.
What a great day to start the new year.
Singer Salvage Yard, South Dakota
Turned out, the hardest thing about training to become a hunter was keeping Dean away from the training. He seemed capable of the most amazing stunts if it meant reaching a weapon he wanted to try out or following John and Bobby to their training spot in the woods.
Somehow, it was working.
John’s military training compesated for his lack of patience, while Bobby’s love for the kids compesated for his own. Death and destruction aside, they were turning into nothing short than a lovely countryside family.
Then, Sammy suddenly remembered he was supposed to grow up and turned into a crawling monster. John had some vague memories of Dean going through the same phase, but that was when a fundamental difference between his children became obvious: Dean often put himself in danger, but Sammy was dangerous. Dean would rather skip breakfast than admitting he had dropped his food on the floor – he would also try to clean up himself, drag a mop twice his size around the living room, trip over it and hit his head on the floor. Sam would probably try and verify whether he could also drop his spoon. And his bowl. And everything else within reach. And perhaps even himself.
Eventually, Sam grew a bit more quiet. Bobby made a joke about how his imaginary friends must keep him very busy, and John couldn’t help but shivering.
Please, God, let them be good, he found himself thinking, while tucking the kids into bed. If they must be real, please, let them be the good kind.
‘Cause there had to be a good kind, right?
So far, nobody had mentioned any supernatural creature that could be on their side, or at least not a threat. Once upon a time, John would have thought impossible that all creature but (some) humans were bad. At this point, not so much. He was driving to his first solo hunt, his car filled with guns, silver bullets, sketchbooks where he practiced drawing a devil’s trap. And on days like this, the little good left in this world simply didn’t seem enough to bother hoping.
John came back in pieces.
Anyone looking at him would have thought the hunt had been a disaster; then again, Bobby Singer wasn’t anyone. He had been on a first hunt himself, albeit a lifetime ago, and had seen many coming back (and many not coming back). There was hardly anything to celebrate, regardless of the result. Bobby understood and said nothing, offering only a few items for John to take care of his wounds. John was especially grateful to be there, of all the places in the world, because the last thing in the world he needed was human comfort, something Missouri or Ellen would have probably been keen on giving.
Dean, however, had other plans.
He stubbornly refused to let his father alone, no matter what Bobby told him. John heard the whole conversation through the door, left slightly ajar by accident. He heard Dean coming upstairs and pushing the door open, then he saw Dean’s worried face turning into something else, something made of pure terror. He was distantly aware of the fact Dean wasn’t supposed to see this – to see him like this. There was blood everywhere, and John had been doing nothing but scrubbing his palms with the same piece of cloth for what had felt like hours.
Dean swallowed hard, but he didn’t back down. He climbed on top of the bed, next to John, then took the cloth from his hand and resumed John’s work. It wasn’t doing anything, of course, the cloth was soaked in blood, and yet, the physical sensation slowly brought John back to the present. He wanted to hug Dean, but he didn’t want to touch him with those bloody hands.
« Thank you. » he said, instead.
« Did you get the bad guys? »
« I did. »
« I knew it. » Dean said, nodding approvingly, then looked up to smile at him.
After that, the training kept improving and the nightmares came back. John didn’t even give it a week – a week of Mary screaming in his head, vomiting fire as she burnt to ashes, limb by limb – before simply quitting sleep again. He spent his nights like he used to, at the very beginning, reading old books about demons and sharpening knives.
One gloomy afternoon, though, Dean was bored out of his mind and went to play upstairs, in the attic, bringing Sammy with him. He had recently learned how to open the trap-door that Bobby had so carefully locked. Whatever game they played, they were awfully quiet for hours, to the point neither John nor Bobby had any idea where they went.
And if at first John’s rational mind was keeping it together, as another hour went by the other part, the one that lived with a superimpressed image of Mary’s body, took over. They were obviously somewhere in the property, because how could it have been otherwise? There were two adult hunters in the house, they would have noticed something. It did not make sense.
Because demons make sense, right?
Because werewolves and witches and wendigos and fucking fairies make so much sense, don’t they?
Where do you draw the line if everything, every crazy thought, is now allowed to exist?
Before he realised it, John was in full panic mode. He could see them, now, Dean and Sammy: they were surrounded by fire, screaming and crying, about to get whatever painful demonic death Yellow-Eye had planned for them. Bobby knew better than to tell him to calm down, but he did have to yell at him to leave the furniture alone, because whatever happened, the table clearly didn’t do it.
« Dad...? »
Dean must have heard the shouting, and he was standing in the living room, eyes big and one quirked eyebrow,
« Dean- » John felt breathless as he walked towards his son. « Where is Sammy? Where the fuck have you been. »
Dean blinked in surprise at ‘bad word’ and John could tell he was considering scolding his father for it, as he did with Bobby all the time.
« Sam is napping, now. We were playing the attic. » Dean said quietly.
« Do you have any idea how worried we were? »
John’s voice was almost gone. He felt a hundred years old all of a sudden. Exhausted. And Dean seemed completely unaware of his pain. The kid looked at Bobby over his father’s shoulder, as if he didn’t know the answer to that question and was looking for a suggestion.
« Dean. » John pressed.
« I don’t know. » he shrugged.
« Why didn’t you tell us where you went? You know you always have to tell one of us. »
« But that’s not true. And I do not tell you every time I go to my room or to the backyard. »
« This is different. »
« But- »
« It is! » John almost barked
Dean didn’t have a reply for that, so he stood quietly and waited. John felt the sudden urge to grab Dean and shake him, to make him understand that they were all going to die some painful horrible death.
He hadn’t even raised his arm, when something about Dean’s demeanor just hit him: Dean wasn’t moving, wasn’t crying or doing absolutely anything. He had a puzzled looked on his face, but nothing more that. Of course. He surely wasn’t enjoying John raising his voice, but he had absolutely no idea what was going on. Neither Mary not John had ever yelled at him. Dean didn’t know what to expect, but he would never expect anything threatening from his parents.
John let out a loud sob and fell to his knees. When he raised both arms, Dean immediately ran into the hug and held him tight.
« Are you okay, daddy? »
« ‘m sorry. » he murmured, pressing his face into Dean’s hair. « I couldn’t find you and Sammy, and I got really scared. »
« Oh. » Dean said, as if it all made perfect sense with that one piece of infromation « That’s okay. I get scared when I can’t see you, too. »
“This has to stop”, John would say to Bobby that very same evening. “You saw me, today. Yelling at my own kid. This can’t be how things are gonna be.” And before Bobby could voice his opinion, “I have to find Yellow-Eye and kill him.” That was the only way the Winchester’s were ever going to be safe.
Kansas City
« What’s your take on revenge? »
Victor blinked.
It was nearly three in the morning and his Friday night shift had been just as dull as any other before. Part of him was genuinely happy to take over those shifts that his colleagues - the ones with a social life - hated, because it was really no trouble at all for him. But since that one call, part of him was also making the best of those dead times in the office, looking into ‘John’ and his story. It was much easier when he could use all of the FBI equipment – which didn’t mean he hadn’t started looking into it from home, too.
His supervisor had been nothing but reassuring: it was his first interaction with a potential victim, perhaps the first unsolved case he’d have to face. There was nothing wrong in taking it personally. Beside, Victor wasn’t slacking on his normal tasks, nor he was losing sleep over it – too much of a precise, rational mind not to know that a few hours a week with a sharp mind and fresh eyes were a better use of his time than some frequent caffeinated overtime.
He also hadn’t shared certain details with his boss, but hey, it wasn’t like there were any real demons running around the country anyway, right?
« It’s John, by the way. Hi, sorry. Should’ve said ‘hi’ first. »
« I know it’s John. » he snapped.
« Oh. Okay. »
John sounded unsure and there was a long pause after that.
« Do you realise you just called talking about murder and your kids being in danger months ago and then nothing? »
« Oh. Oh. » John’s voice betrayed a smile or something towards that direction « Were you worried about us, Agent? That’s...surprisingly thoughtful. »
« Well. » Victor bit his lip, considering his next words carefully « Your call, that was my first call ever. First night shift. First day of work. »
« So we’re sort of your favourites now? »
« Don’t flatter youself. I have so much work to do. I really don’t see why we can’t talk in person. Sort things out, to make sure the kids are okay. »
« I- I kinda did sort things out. »
Victor’s voice almost caught in his throat.
« Did- did you do something I should be worried about? »
« Nothing a line of empty cans did not deserve. »
« You sound...much better than last time. »
« Thanks. I made peace with the situation. If I have to learn how to fight...those things to protect my boys, so be it. »
« ‘Those things’ being the monsters, right? » Victor asked, while scribbling down ‘how many sons’ on his notebook.
« Doesn’t matter. I just know I can protect us, now. Which made me consider- »
« Revenge? John, don’t. Whatever you think you’re doing for them, no revenge was ever a good idea. »
« I know you’re thinking about this in human terms, but assume I wasn’t going to kill a human being- »
« You can’t ask me that much. »
« -but if there was something out there, coming to thtreaten your family, and you could just, get them and put an end to everything? »
Fuck.
Victor clenched his fist and refrains himself from punching the desk.
« Then I’d say- » if there was no way to break John’s fantasy, at least he could find a way to operate whithin it « I’d say you have to think about the cost of it. You said ‘revenge’, first. Which makes me wonder, is going out and find them really the best option for the boys? Or is something you need? Is it defense or revenge? »
« Can’t it work as both? »
« It can » Victor allowed « but it can’t be both. »
« Does it matter? »
« Yes. » Victor said, with no hesitation « The ‘why’ always matter. Intentions always matter. It will matter for you and your kids. »
John went quiet for a while.
« Thanks, Victor. You gave me a headache, but I think I see your point, now. »
« Perhaps I can get you a coffee one of these days? »
« Nice try. »
Once again, Victor found himself alone with a bunch of notes and the sneaky suspicion there was nothing even remotely normal about this.
Somewhere in the States
‘Change of plan’, her Master said.
Ruby stopped in the middle of the street.
‘You have to be a little bit more specific, Your Terribleness’, she snorted, even in her thoughts.
‘A decision has been made. I can see the right path for us, now. Drop all other plans. We follow just one route now: take care of him.’
Ruby couldn’t help but raising an eyebrow.
‘Pardon me, Master’, she felt the need to clarify - after all Lucifer had chosen her, over billions, because she could voice her concerns and offer her unbiased counseling - ‘do you mean we are dropping every single plan? Including...?’
‘Your heard me, child. Protect him. Everything and everyone else is now collateral damage. The plan will not work if he is hurt or scared. Or worse. Protect Sammy, whatever the cost. I shall be in touch when the next stage is ready.’
Of all the things the Almighty had been saying to her over the years, nothing gave her the chills like the disgustingly affectionate nickname for His future vessel.
‘On it, boss’, she replied promptly. More work it was.
Soux Falls, South Dakota
« That sounds like a nasty one. » John said, scratching his chin.
It was Friday again – unsurprisingly, considering the day before had been Thursday, what a stupid thought, why was his brain shutting off like that during their calls? – and John had now gotten used to spending a good hour or so sitting on the floor.
« It is. » Victor took a deep breath, as if the next statement had been some sort of big announcement « Do you have any insights? »
« Oh, well. » John couldn’t help but chuckle « You mean any supernatural insights? »
« At this point, why the fuck not. »
Victor was, if possible, even less of a believer than when they’ve had their first conversation. And yet, for reasons John failed to understand, he seemed to have developed some sort of soft spot for John and his misadventures, to the point he had now a good supernatural vocabulary and could follow John’s deep dives into the realm of mosters like a devoted fan with his favourite scifi show – which was probably what the Winchester’s were to him. Sometimes, like today, he would tell John about a difficult case, without naming names or giving away any details, to hear his opinion.
« Bring some silver bullets. »
« Aaaalright, forget it. »
« Listen, kid. Don’t wanna be that kind of parent, but- »
« Hang on, dude. ‘Kid’? ‘Parent’? Really? Who are you, Gandalf the Old? »
« You say all the time you’re new to the job and all that. »
« That doesn’t make me a kid. »
« I’m sure you’re a kid, from my perspective.»
« How old are you, then? Two-hundred? »
« Let’s say I’m not sixteen anymore. »
« I really hope not, given you have two kids. »
« ‘kay, detective. » John considered what would be a harmless piece of information « Old enough to have served in Vietman. »
« That doesn’t narrow it down ait all » Victor sighed « which I guess was the purpose. »
« Just...just bring some silver, if you can. »
« Can’t make any promises. I’m a broken rookie, after all. »
Somewhere in the States
Fuck this shit.
Azazel was now pissed at her for the umpteenth change of plan. Fine, the demon had been grooming a bunch of extra freaky kids with superpowers as a side gig – the Supreme Leader of Hell didn’t like following a straight line to go to A to B, he’d rather do a backflip and have the letter written in Mandarin, probably – but it wasn’t like the rest of them had been sitting on their asses.
Ruby literally had to sneak into the house, once, because Sammy had a cold and not even the manifestation of His Terribleness himself, floating over the child’s bed as a shiny shapeless thingy made of light, could make him stop. Try and explain to your boss, the Devil, that human flu and soulmate connections are not necessarily part of the same subject and you can’t cure a sore troat with destiny. You just need a fucking medicine.
(Yes, in case anyone out there was wondering, Ruby did sneak into the fucking house to give the fucking baby a fucking spoon of medicine, the very same medicine John Winchester was going to give him anyway in a couple of hours. But let’t not ruin a potential wonderful relation with the in-laws over a cold by starting a ‘who-takes-better-care-of-Sammy’ competition.)
Azazel had been the usual grumpy self, but, alas, he was a reasonable devilish creature. Ruby explained calmly that the Winchester’s sucked big time and you know what, everything would be much easier if they’d snatched the travel-size Devil holder now and kept him on their side until the big reunion.
And when Ruby pointed out that it would be stupid to do it now, while they were living with the other pretty badass hunter, instead of waiting for them to be alone, Azazel nodded in agreement. A little planning never killed nobody – nobody that wasn’t a Winchester anyway.
Soux Falls, South Dakota
Eventually, the Winchester’s moved out to a decent semi-detacthed house in Sioux Falls, close enough to Bobby for the kids to see him frequently but far enough so he and John had time to remember why they liked each other’s company in the first place
Dean was still sleeping next to him most nights. John would have said something if Dean’s presence hadn’t been the only reason why he managed to fall asleep, every now and then. At first, the idea of leaving Bobby felt like a leap of faith more than an actual plan. He was fully prepared for his nightmares to come back in full-force, now that they were in a place of their own, surrounded by strangers that could be possed, in a house that was built for normal people and not for hunters. John was the last man stading between the kids and Hell itself.
John even mentioned that to Victor at some point, during a rant about how it was impossible to find decent windows with an extra lock that didn’t require selling his liver on the black market.
He didn’t expect the man to remember, on their next call; and, most definitely, he didn’t expect him to mutter something about a certain supplier he came across, by accident of course, that had exactly what John was looking for. Once again, John was taken aback by his thoughtfulness; even though Victor did not believe a single word about the supernatural, he had sort of been watching over them in a way John did not understand. Maybe it was just part his calling to be an agent, to serve and protect his people (John had been a soldier, he could relate to that, at least a little bit); and then again, maybe not.
There was a little, annoying voice in John’s brain, whispering words of hope that he did not ask for. The same voice that reminded him, every other day, that giving out his actual name had not been either a distraction or moment of arrogance: it was a small, fleble cry for help. A tiny part of John wanted Victor to know his real name. To hear him say it, so he could pretend he had an actual friend out there. And who knows, maybe Victor would have figured it all out and found them.
Saved them.
Saved him.
Dean had shown nothing but enthusiasms regarding the place, taking it upon himself to assist John in even the most boring tasks – such as buying cutlery or learn how to use the shower. He was ecstathic about the new room, where John told him he was allowed to hang anything on the walls and pick his bedsheets; and yet, when night came, he sneaked into John’s room.
« Don’t you like your new bed? » John enquired, gently tucking the kid under the covers, as if to make it clear he wasn’t asking because Dean wasn’t welcomed. « Something wrong with it? »
« Mh-mh. » Dean shook his head « Room’s nice. I just don’t want you to be alone, daddy. For the bad dreams. »
« Bad dreams? »
« Yes. » Dean nodded solemnly « Sometimes you cry in your sleep. Uncle Bobby said it’s because of the bad dreams. That I should just give you a big hug and they’ll go away. »
John swallowed hard.
« Thanks buddy. »
« ‘tsokay. It’s my job to protect you. ‘m not a kid anymore. » Dean yawned halfway through the last sentence.
John didn’t know any better than holding him close until they both fell asleep.
Kansas City
« That’s sweet. » Victor smiled to himself, trying to picture John’s eldest kid.
« Yeah. That’s D- » John coughed « That’s him for you. »
« So, not regretting the choice to settle down? »
« Not so far. »
They had officially lost count of the calls and John did sound much calmer and focused with every conversation. He still believed in monsters, but they tried not to talk about that.
« You were right about revenge. Some days, all I want is to run off and find it and rip the motherfucker apart. »
« But you don’t. »
« No. »
« What? What’s bothering you? »
« I’m just thinkning... It’s not only about Mary. I could kill so many of them. Before they hurt other people. I just feel like the most selfish man in history. »
« Hey, you’re telling me? I’m a goddamn policeman, John. Wanting to save everyone is basically in my job description. And sometimes there’s nothing wrong with that, but... But you’re not being selfish. You’re taking care of your family. »
« I know, I know. »
« Not to be redundant, but you know what else I am right about- »
« Oh, c’mon! I’m not that crazy yet, I don’t need a shrink. »
« I wish I could drag you to a therapist, I swear. »
« That’d be something to see. »
« What’s so funny about it? »
« I’m not particularly easy to drag around. »
« I see. How tall are you sir, exactly? »
« Are you takings notes, Agent? »
« No, John, I gave up on that about six months ago. »
« Oh god. » John bursted into laughter « My wife used to say ‘John’ just like that when I was being annoying. »
« Poor Mary, I feel for her. »
Only later, in the quiet of an empty office, Victor’s brain started to work on a little detail. My wife used to say ‘John’ just like that. That wasn’t possible, wasn’t it? Victor would never be that much of an idiot and ‘John’ wouldn’t be just as much of a smartass.
And yet.
It took a few cross-searches to find an aswer. Mary Winchester, found dead in her house on November 2, 1983. Possible arson, never confirmed. She left behind two sons and her husband, John Winchester.
Well, holy fuck.
‘John and Mary’ it was.