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“DADDY!”
John’s hit with a barreling ball of Sam, launched at top speed from Jim’s front porch, and he actually staggers, surprising Jim a little. Kid’s grown since the last time he pulled that trick, and John makes a note to watch out in the future.
Jim frowns. “You injured?”
“No sir,” John says, and swings Sammy up into his arms, frowning when the little boy octopuses around him, burying his face in John’s neck. “Everything ok here?”
Jim looks surprised. “Just fine, John. Wouldn’t know the boys were here, except that they show up on time for meals.”
“Good,” he says, and ruffles Sam’s hair. “Proud of you, squirt, good job behaving for Pastor Jim there. You’ll make a good CO yet.” Sammy’s little form shivers, and he frowns again. “Where’s Dean, Jim?”
“Uh,” Jim looks around, startled by the question. Usually both boys are right there at the door at the first sound of the Impala. He likes having them, so long as John isn’t gone for too long, and knows they enjoy his company, but they’re always…
“Sammy, where’s Dean?” John’s voice is gentle, and he grimaces a little, seeing his old friend smile at the tone. Though maybe it would save him from the humanity lecture again.
“Inna room, Daddy.” His frown matches Jim’s, this time, though he hides it from Sam. His little guy’s usually not this quiet, usually he’s bursting to tell John all about what he and his brother did with the pastor, things they saw in the church, or on the walks Jim liked to take them on, to the local parks and nature centers. And always about the books Jim reads to them, or lets Sam look at.
He sets his little boy down, detaching the wiry little arms with some difficulty, and kneels to look into the child’s eyes. “Sammy. What’s the matter, buddy?”
“M’tried to be good, Daddy, really! M’sorry…”
Jim gives John a bewildered look. “John, they weren’t any trouble at all, I didn’t do any scolding, aside from getting the book out of Sam’s hands at bedtime.”
“Is that what you’re worried about, little man,” he asks his child, and Sammy shakes his head, no. John stands up, taking Sam’s hand, and turns to his friend. “Jim, I think maybe I’ll see what’s up with Dean. D’you think…”
“Sure. Sammy, let’s go get the book we were reading this morning, so you can tell me what you want to show your dad, ok?”
“Really?” Sam’s shyness puzzles him, come to think of it, Sam’s been awfully quiet this time around.
“Sure thing. And I think you can help me set the table for supper too, lay the silverware and napkins out for me.”
“Okay.” Sam takes his hand, still shy, and the way he’s pulling at his ear, either he’s not feeling good, or he’s trying not to stick his thumb in his mouth. Hard telling, with this one. John nods gratefully at Jim, and heads to the back bedroom where his boys have been sharing a set of bunk beds.
His nine year old is facedown on the bed, and John’s immediately concerned, sits down next to the boy.
“Dean. Son, look at me.” Please don’t let him be sick, John thinks. It takes a lot to put Dean down like this, laying down in the middle of the day, and he’s not sure if he’s got the strength to see his oldest boy through another bout of pneumonia so soon after the last one. But Dean turns, and John can see his eyes are red with tears. “Dean. Come here.” He sits the boy up, pulls the too-skinny legs over so that his boy is sitting next to him on the edge of the bed. “What’s the matter.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” he says, and leaves it there.
“I need more than that, Dean. Pastor Jim said you were both well-behaved, so what’s the deal, son.”
“I…Dad, I’m reallysorry...”
“Dean.” He doesn’t know what to say, so he falls back on what’s quickly becoming a family standard. “Report.”
“Sir, I, I’m sorry, I t-told Sammy something I shouldn’t have.” Dean eyes his father, who simply waits for him to continue. “Sammy was being a brat about washing up for supper, the first night, and I...” he swallows hard. “I told him that if he didn’t behave, that Pastor Jim would put us out on the street and he wouldn’t be able to sleep in a bed.” The nine-year old’s eyes are luminous with tears that he’s desperately trying to blink back, as he makes the difficult admission.
“Why’d you do that, Dean.” John’s voice is gentle, looking to understand things.
“I just, he frustrated Bobby so much, and I was afraid you’d be mad if you got back and Pastor Jim said we’d been bad, that he wouldn’t want us here if we were, and it just kinda came out, and I tried to take it back, Dad, I really did, but Sammy won’t believe me, he says I always tell the truth to him, and really I do, I just…”
“Breathe, Dean,” he says, recognizing that he’s gonna be saying that for some time to come when the kid gets in trouble. “Seems to me that this happened on Pastor Jim’s watch,” he muses, voice calculating. It’s not so bad, Dean’s nearly ten, and he’s always spoken first and thought later, something John’s trying to curb, though success has been slow. He knows the boys were exhausted that night he left them with Jim, and he can’t hold much blame to Dean for being frustrated, and too tired to keep his tongue, he knows quite well how his youngest son gets when he’s over tired. But Dean’s guilt, that can’t go on. “I think we need to go let Pastor Jim decide what he’s going to do about it.”
Dean’s face is pale, the rash of freckles standing out. “But what if he… Are you going to…”
“Yes, son. You know that. Any punishment you boys get from someone like Bobby or Jim while I’m away, I’ll double it when I get back. That stands here, too.”
Dean gulps. “Okay. Can I go now?”
“Yes.” He takes a moment to hug his son, before the kid bolts off, all arms and legs in a tangle getting out the door. And then he drops his head into his hands, wonders if this is normal. Whatever. Can’t waste time on speculation. He comes slowly into the kitchen, listening to Dean confess, watching Sammy’s wide eyes.
“Dean Winchester,” Jim says slowly, meeting John’s eyes with a light that tells John he’s amused, but is going to treat this with the gravity it deserves, that Dean deserves. “That was a lie, son. You may not have meant to tell it, but it was a lie. What happens to liars in this house?”
“I…”
“You know this. I think Sammy and I had this talk the last time we were here,” he says to the round-eyed little boy. “You can get started. Apologize to your brother, and then I think there’s an empty corner over there. An hour, Dean, fifteen mintues for every day you made that boy suffer unnecessarily, and you can write me an essay when you’re through, before you and your family leave.” He sees John nod.
They can’t hear what Dean’s saying, crouched in front of Sammy, but it’s clear to them what the end result is. Sammy’s tears, held back for so long, fall quietly into Dean’s shirt, as he wraps his arms around his big brother. “I was so scared, Dean,” he says, and Dean nods, speaks quietly for a few minutes, until Sam’s sitting by himself, legs dangling from the kitchen chair, and calm again. Then he goes silently to the corner and plants himself there, leaning his forehead against the wall.
Jim turns to Sammy. “Sammy. I want you to know something. I want you to know that it doesn’t ever matter, not ever, how bad you are, you are always welcome here in this house, or with me wherever I am, do you understand?”
The shy eyes look at him trustingly. “Yes, Pastor Jim,” he says, and Jim suddenly has his arms full of five-year old. He cuddles the little guy, and looks to John, hoping that the often stern Winchester is satisfied. And he’s glad to see the benevolent look on the man’s face.
“Now, Sam-I-Am, can I hand you off to your old dad, so I can finish supper?”
“Daddy!” And this is more his little boy, starting to slowly speak about the book on the table that he’s been reading, a cookbook of some sorts, by the look of it.
“Thank you,” he says to Jim.
“Don’t be too hard on Dean,” Jim asks, quietly, and John shakes his head.
“I hope you don’t consider two hours in the corner after supper, and tomorrow morning spent on bookwork after your essay’s done to be too hard,” John says, looking tired, “And I’m sorry, I shouldn’t assume we’re welcome another night.”
“Nonsense,” Jim says. “You’re always a welcome guest here, John Winchester, and I think you’re doing a fine job.”
John stands for a moment. Praise from Jim isn’t always easy to come by these days, and he thinks to himself that they’ll sit down to supper, he’ll go over his hunt, and most of all, remember Jim’s words, keep them to himself for some of the more trying days his offspring provide.