Five times John danced with Dean - SN fic - PG13, gen

[tigriswolf]

Title: Five times John danced with Dean
Fandom: Supernatural
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: spoilers for up to 4.3; off-screen implied slash
Pairings: John/Mary, OMC/Dean
Rating: PG13
Wordcount: 1500
Point of view: third
Notes: inspired by layne67 here

 

 

i

 

5

 

Seven months after the fire, Dean still hadn’t said a word. Every night when John checked on his boys, he found Dean curled up around Sammy, one hand over Sam’s heart. John didn’t know what to do—before they left Lawrence, a psychic had told him about monsters, and what lurked in the dark, and now, John could barely let the boys out of his sight.

Seven months to the night, John stepped out of the bathroom and heard Dean sleepily crooning a song Mary used to sing—“You are my sunshine,” Dean’s tiny voice murmured.  “My only sunshine.  You make me happy when skies are gray."

John wanted to weep, to fall to his knees and scream for Mary to come the fuck back because all three of her boys needed her so damn much. Instead, he walked to the bed and leaned over to kiss his sons, he scooped them up, and he slowly spun around, adding his voice to Dean’s.

“You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you,” John whispered, and he gazed down at Dean’s wet eyes. “So please don’t take my sunshine away.”

 

10

 

“Dean!” John screamed over the roaring—something. He had no idea what the fuck it was, but it stunk and it was loud, and it was between him and his boy.

He’d known Dean was too young yet, but he needed a second set of hands for this one, and he trusted Dean over anyone else in the world.

“Dad!” Dean yelled. “Get down!”

John couldn’t see whatever Dean did, but he heard the explosion. Throwing himself backwards, John curled up to protect his middle. For a long, heart-stopping moment, John knew his boy was dead. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe—and then Dean was at his side, shaking him, and John heard him distantly through a high ringing.

“Dad! Dad! C’mon, dude, Dad, move, damnit!”

So John moved, rolled to his feet, and grabbed Dean, pulling him close and whirling around, laughing.

They were both alive. And John didn’t take Dean on another hunt for four years.

 

15

 

“Dad,” Dean said quietly while John researched and Dean cleaned guns.

“Yeah?” John replied, glancing up. It was about time he took a break. Groaning, he arched his back, stretching his arms over his head.

“Dad, there’s a dance next week. We’ll still be here, right?” Dean sounded embarrassed, ducking his head down, avoiding John’s gaze.

John blinked, staring at his boy. He took a second look, wondering where the years had gone. Yesterday, Dean was a toddler, asleep against his chest. And now—

“Yeah, Dean,” he said. “We’ll be here. You have a date?”

Dean nodded. “Angie Basinger.” He met John’s eyes for a moment and looked away again. “Can you… I mean, you know…”

John took pity. “Of course, Dean. I taught your mother how to dance, too.”

At first, Dean was self-conscious; John was relieved that Sam had gone to soccer camp for the day. But Dean swiftly caught on, and soon enough they were laughing. Dean’s laugh was so much like Mary’s that John’s breath was caught, and he knew she’d be so proud of their boy.

 

20

 

“Come again?” John snarled into the phone.

“Don’t take that tone with me, Winchester,” Bobby growled back. “I’ve checked twice and even talked to Joshua. It’s a curse and the only known cure is to dance naked under the full moon with a blood relative.”

John closed his eyes. “Does it say if both have to be naked?”

Bobby didn’t laugh, thankfully, but John could hear how much he wanted to. “To be safe,” Bobby said, “both of you should be.”

For one second, John wanted to pawn the whole thing off on to Sam. It wouldn’t be that hard to convince him that Dean’d gotten stoned or smashed, and—no.

He and Dean took the hunt, and Dean nearly tore a ligament getting between John and the dying witch’s concoction, so it was John’s responsibility to cure Dean.

“Full moon is two days away,” Bobby said. “It’ be best to keep Dean sedated. No tellin’ what kinda trouble that boy could find while he’s so… uninhibited.” 

John sighed. “Yeah. Shit. He won’t want Sammy to see him like this.”

A moment of silence. “Well, you’re not that far from me. I’ll swing by and pick him up—I’ve got some books I could use his help cataloging,” Bobby finally muttered.

So Sam went to Bobby’s for a week. Dean spent two days sedated for his own safety and then John carried him to the car, drove to a secluded clearing he’d scouted, stripped them both, and waited for the moonrise. Dean woke just in time for the light to hit him and John pulled him up to dance.

And no power on Earth (or Heaven, or Hell) could ever get John to mention it again.

 

25

 

“A haunted gay club?” John parroted, raising an eyebrow at Dean.

Dean ducked his head, shuffling his feet. “Yeah,” he said. “It should be simple—one of the pictures on the wall is in a frame this old homophobe carved himself. His kid is the owner, and—anyway.” He cleared his throat. “I know where the dude is buried, so I figured I’d go in and snag the frame, then salt and burn both.”

“Alright,” John said. “I noticed some portents on the East Coast, so I’ll look into that while you handle this one.”

Dean blinked at him. “You mean—by myself? Really?”

John nodded. “You’re a good hunter, Dean. Time we see how well you do on your own.”

“Yes, yes sir.” Dean swallowed. “I’ll do you proud, Dad.”

Smiling, John said, “I know you will, son.”

Three days later, John watched from a corner as Dean worked the room, charming man after man onto the dance floor, all the while never letting his eyes drift from the owner, a dude somewhere around John’s age. John knew the endgame: the frame was in the owner’s office, behind an electronic lock and the best security system money could buy. So the easiest way in was to be invited.

John understood. He still wanted to kill everyone watching his baby boy.

Finally, after decades passed, and John’d imagined dozens of deaths, the owner made his move. He sauntered up to Dean, placed a hand on his hip, and Dean went with him.

It was part of the job, part of the con, and John knew Dean could handle himself. Knew nothing would happen unless Dean let it. Even so, John clenched his fists and followed.

He could hear Dean’s laughter; his boy sounded drunk, but it was all part of the act. Just Dean pretending. “Hey, now,” he heard Dean say. “We got time, Billy-boy.” And Dean laughed again, but this time slightly strained.

As John ghosted down the hall, he fantasized about breaking Billy-boy’s bones, one at a time.

The office door was open slightly, so John let himself in and saw the owner stretched out over the desk, unconscious. 

Dean was at the far wall, peering at each picture. “Thought you had something on the coast,” Dean said.

John shrugged. “It was a bust.”

Chuckling, Dean gently removed one of the frames. “This one.”

“Okay, let’s go,” John commanded, turning and striding out, instinctively taking over, even though this had been Dean’s case.

Dean caught up and grabbed his arm, handing over the picture. “Should fit in your pocket, Da—John,” Dean said softly. “It’s kinda small.” As John shoved it into his upper inside pocket, Dean continued, “I’ve been working this room for hours, Dad. If I just vanish with the owner and then he’s found blacked out, I’ll be remembered. But a few dances with a guy who I go home with? Won’t be noticed.”

John met his son’s serious, earnest face. “Alright,” he said, following Dean’s lead. The loud music pulsed in John’s ears as he wrapped his arms around his son and pretended it was Mary beneath his hands.

 

27

 

Azazel leaned in close, putting John’s mouth a breath away from Dean’s neck.

He could dangerous, this boy of yours, Johnny, Mary’s murderer purred. You know, he told me once that he’d kill me. That he already had.

Don’t, John begged. Leave them alone. You have me. Let Dean and Sam go.

No, hunter, Azazel said. This has been a long time coming, and I intend to play with your whelp until he’s bloody and broken and dead.

No, John said. I won’t let you.

Azazel laughed and John flinched inside his own head. Deny it all you want, John. Deny me, deny the truth—but your sons are mine, promised to me by sweet Mary, and I owe Dean. I’ll prove to him, here, now, that no man could kill me.

John’s gaze was directed to Dean’s eyes as Azazel pulled back. Hush now, John, Azazel murmured gently. It’s time for us to dance.

 

 

Comments

[melanth0.livejournal.com]

gosh, I love how you skate from one facet of the Winchesters to the next.
The first one was so sweet and sad, and I'm glad you brought in our dear friend the YED for the last, because he's such a huge part of their lives and this feels like essence of Winchester in a small neat melancholic package.

[tigriswolf]

I feel like Azazel's been kinda forgotten in the show; they've moved on to bigger and badder villains, but I kinda adore ole yellow-eyes, you know?

Thank you for reading!