Summary: Pre series
Wee Winchester. Dean Winchester
reflects on the heritage his father left him and how it will shape the
legacy he and his brother will leave behind.
A/N: I’ve done Mother’s Day stories for a while now, and only one
Father’s Day fic almost three years ago and felt it was time for
another. This little piece came to me as a gift, so I thought I would
share. Most of the story is set pre-series when Dean is six and Sam
two, however the first section and the last is placed in the future. I
think I really needed the Dean and Sam part at the end to reassure
myself about things to come with our favorite boys. Let me know what
you think.
RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ
It doesn't matter who
my father was; it matters who I remember he was. ~Anne Sexton
Dean Winchester stood at the edge of the wooden dock he’d built a few
summers back staring out over the rippling blue water of the pond. It
was a picturesque June day, the sun high in a cloudless sky, the cool
breeze keeping the southern humidity in check. He closed his eyes
embracing the gentle wind off the water.
He heard the soft tinkling of chimes in the distance. Some Miss Emma
had hung when she and Pastor Jim bought the old farm house over fifty
years ago. Other wind chimes joined them over the years.
Shell creations from numerous beach vacations, a hand tuned piece from
Germany, ceramic footprints from a Bible school project and a sea glass
collage brought from the Outer Banks of North Carolina. One would have
thought the odd combination would make for a strange cacophony, but
instead harmony flowed, much like the hum of voices drifting to Dean on
the breeze.
The farm was swarming with people, the way Dean liked it, but the past
could cast a shadow even on the brightest of times. He found himself
drifting from his family, pulled by an invisible tide to the pond. His
moored boat bobbed with the current like an old friend beckoning him
out to the water.
The ancient vessel dipped as he stepped inside, bow banging against the
dock as D’Artagnan and Porthos jumped in along with him. Alone time was
an unfathomable concept to canines. Only Dill stayed on the dock,
stretching herself in the noonday sun. Unlike her sire, Boo Radley she
was more laid back, content to sit for hours at Dean’s side, even
before old age started to creep up on her.
Dean shook his head at the overzealous dogs. “We’re not going out today
so you two might as well climb on out of here and go back to begging
for hot dogs.” It was his Sunday ritual to spend the afternoon fishing
unless he was on a hunt, something he used to tease Jim Murphy about.
He considered it karma that like the pastor he rarely caught a damn
thing, though he stocked the pond with catfish and smallmouth bass each
spring. He would not be dropping a line today.
“Go.” He hardened his command and JT’s German Shepherd returned to the
dock. Porthos, on the other hand, remained sitting on the closest bench
seat, his whole body wriggling with anticipation of the cast off. The
Boston terrier huffed, lifting his one and only front paw when Dean
pointed at him.
Like Dean’s youngest son James, the pup was cunning and determined.
Dean found it ironic the two dogs reflected each boy's personalities.
“No means no, Porthos. That’s final.”
“Please. He knows what a sucker you’ve become in your old age.” Dean
looked up to find Caleb standing at the edge of the water, holding two
bottles of beer. The fact his best friend had sneaked up on him was a
testament to his distraction. “No is merely a suggestion these days.”
“Screw you, Damien.” Dean bent down to retrieve Pastor Jim’s old tackle
box from beneath the bench. Sifting through the equipment had a calming
effect like working on an engine. “Fortyish isn’t old.” Some days Dean
still felt like a twenty-year-old, as if he’d magically lived life
backwards.
“That wasn’t what you told me when you were thirty-something.” Caleb
stepped onto the doc, sitting the beers on the top rail. “What are you
doing out here? There's no escaping the barbecue from hell.”
“Tell me about it.” Dean quirked a brow, grinning when Caleb realized
his awkward phrasing. Dean had long since made a fragile kind of peace
with his time in Hell, finally comfortable in his own skin despite the
deep regrets that lingered like an ache from a long ago injury. The
hell hounds had killed him at this very spot, but the pond was never
tainted for Dean. Damien held different sentiments and rarely ventured
here. “I tried that once and it didn’t work out so well.”
“That’s not funny.”
Dean took Jim’s tackle in his lap, taking a seat beside Porthos and
popped the lid. “What’s funny is that you’re becoming more and more
like your brother Josh every day. Is sticking your foot in your mouth
genetic or contagious?”
“He’s not my brother.”
Even after all the years since Mac and Esme’s wedding, Dean never tired
of twisting the stepsibling knife. Caleb was too easy. “You’re just
saying that because he majorly one upped you on Mac’s present. He’s the
good son.”
“Dad has everything he needs.” Caleb crossed his arms over his chest.
“What’s another geeky gadget? It’s the thought that counts.”
“Keep telling yourself that, cheapskate.” Dean started to prowl through
sinkers, plugs and spinners, not really sure what he was looking for.
“Speaking of brothers, tell me Sammy hasn’t burned my steak. After this
last week on the road, I need some real food.”
“You’re in luck. Bobby’s taken over the cooking and the old guy hasn’t
lost his touch with a steak.”
Dean snorted, thinking of the grizzled mechanic who could still hold
his own on a hunt if need be. “You better not let him hear you throwing
around the ‘old guy’ stuff. He’ll show you he hasn’t lost his touch in
the ass-kicking department.”
“I think me and Sam could take him.”
Dean glanced up. “Where is The Scholar?”
“Sammy’s been relegated to dandelion picking with the fairies.”
Dean mocked a shudder. “I’m so glad I had sons.”
“Speaking of sons, Ben made it in.” Caleb knelt to pet Dill, the Border
collie rolling to her side for a belly rub. “He got here right after
you disappeared.”
Dean returned to sifting through the tackle. “Did he bring me presents?”
“Starving med student, remember? Besides I think he’s still believes he
can get mileage out of that Father’s Day when he officially took the
Winchester name.”
Dean couldn’t deny the surge of pride that still swept through him when
he recalled opening his oldest son’s first college application. He had
mistaken the choice of Cornell as the surprise but then he’d read the
first line, Ben Winchester. “Yeah, well he’s pretty damn smart that
way.”
“Don’t feel too bad. James hit me up for some money to get you
something.”
“James hit me up for some money for a present for his Godfather.”Dean
shook his head at the kid’s audacity. “I’m guessing neither one of us
gets a gift and we bought him a new game for Father’s Day.”
Caleb laughed. “Then your last hope is JT.”
“Broke minor who is beholden to me for allowance, remember?” Porthos’s
head was buried in the box, snorting and blowing as he rooted for
anything of interest. Dean picked him up, depositing him to floor of
the boat. The last thing they needed was another fishing hook incident
like last Sunday.
“Never stopped you from coming up with a present for your old man. And
Johnny was the king of cheapskates, especially when it came to
allowance and babysitting reimbursement.”
Dean grinned, never remembering his father doling out money that wasn’t
for a necessity. John Winchester was practical. “Yeah. But Dad made
sure I had skills like poker and pool sharking to fall back on. He was
the king of teaching self-reliance.”
“That why you’re out here?” Caleb raised a brow. “You've been thinking
about your dad?”
The question caught Dean off guard. He’d noticed Caleb watching him as
they cleaned the grill, sharing furtive looks with Sam who pretended to
be engrossed in the Sunday paper. He could guess at the silent
communication between Scholar and Knight. Still, he felt a little
chagrined his emotions were so easily gauged, not all his thoughts
protected by the Guardian gig. “You've been reading my mind without
permission, Dude?”
“Don’t even have to go there after all these years.” Caleb gave Dill
one final pat and stood. “You do a great job of hiding it, but this day
usually has you in a crummy mood.”
“This happens to be one of my favorite days.” Dean returned his gaze to
the box, catching sight of a tiny almond-shaped wooden lure hiding
beneath a spare rod. The red and black paint of the fishlike sculpture
had long since faded, the dotted eye clouded to a lifeless green. “And
Sammy is the brooder in the family.”
“Hate to break it to you, Dude, but Sammy’s not the one out here by
himself.”
Dean picked up the lure, running his fingers over the smooth pine,
careful of the rusted hook dangling from the end. Caleb had a point,
one driven home by the sudden knife like ache in Dean’s chest as
memories of his father flooded his mind. Sam loved their dad, but his
brother had every right to his sentiments where John Winchester was
concerned, ones that ran a different depth than his own.
“Deuce? You with me?”
Dean pulled his thoughts from the past, closing the box before sliding
it under the bench. He stood up, scooping Porthos into his arms. “You’d
rather I be frolicking in the fields, getting daisies braded in my hair
by the fairies? Don’t take it out on me because you got tricked into
playing Prince Charming at Mary’s tea.”
Caleb extended an arm to help him up. The look on his face gave away
the fact he wasn’t buying Dean’s redirect, but par for the course his
friend played along. “I was scoring points with the lady guests by
doing my doting uncle routine. Chicks eat that shit up.”
Dean smirked, accepting the hand up. He knew good and well that the
only girls Caleb was hoping to please were the two with the pink
sparkly wings. “You got to make up for the gray hair and floundering
sexual performance somehow.”
“Guardian or not, you can always go for a swim with the fishes.” Caleb
shoved him, but kept a tight hold on his wrist so that Dean didn’t
actually go in the pond.
“People know where I am.” Dean gained his footing and his friend let
him go. “And D’Artagnan might tear your leg off.” His threat was echoed
with friendly thumping of a tail. Dean set Porthos on the dock with an
admonishing look at the less than vicious German Shepherd. “You’re a
discredit to your breed.”
“I’m more afraid of the geese.” Caleb cast a wary glance to the
surrounding waters looking for the nefarious fowl. “Remember how Jim’s
old birds Darcy and Elizabeth used to terrorize you.”
“Your memory fading now, too?” Dean jabbed the older man with his
elbow. “You’re the only one those birds went after and that probably
had something to do with the firecracker incident.”
“Funny how we all have our selective version of the past.”
Dean recognized the attempted segue. It would most likely lead into
fertile chick flick territory. “You got something on your mind, Damien?”
“No more than usual.” Caleb picked up the two beers, handing one to
Dean. He grabbed a minnow bucket and turned it over using it for a
seat. “Sometimes I like to pretend I’m a normal person and have an
actual conversation.” He gestured to the lone Adirondack chair. “Join
me.”
Dean opened the beer and pulled a long drink. “Dude, we’ve never been
normal.”
“Never stopped us before.”
Dean angled the chair so it was facing Caleb before sitting down. “I
guess we’ve done okay for a couple of freaks.” They had exceeded Dean’s
expectations, which had them going out in a blaze of glory during the
final showdown with Lucifer.
Caleb lifted his beer towards the farmhouse. “I think Jim and Johnny
would be proud.”
Dean raised his drink in toast. “To Jim and Dad.”
“They’re here in spirit.”
Dean took another gulp. “Damn, I miss them.”
“Me too,” Caleb said.
“Sometimes it feels like yesterday we were all together.” Dean’s father
had been gone almost twenty years, but there were days when the loss
would catch him like an unexpected line drive whacked his way. “Dad
should be here, burning steaks with Bobby and Mac, Jim overseeing it
all from his favorite rocking chair on the porch.”
Caleb nodded. “Johnny would have gotten one hell of a kick out of all
this.” He took another drink. “I’d give almost anything to see him go
head to head with James.”
Dean eased back in the chair watching as a sparrow hawk dipped towards
the water barely skimming the surface before soaring into the sky. “Dad
spent his life trying to win the big battle and never got to enjoy any
of the spoils he was fighting for.”
“He kept you and Sammy alive.” Damien looked at him. “I think maybe
that’s all he was ever really fighting for. In the end, victory was
his.”
“Maybe, but I hate like hell he missed everything since then.” Dean
turned the wooden lure over in his hand, surprised the tiny initials
were still there-JW. He glanced up at Caleb. “These days that’s all I
seem to remember when I think of him-how he always missed the good
things. Birthdays, Christmas, Father’s Day.”
“I remember that Father’s Day.” Caleb gestured to the lure and Dean
tossed it to him, watching as his friend traced his fingers over the
initials he had penned. “You were damn determined to win that contest.”
“Pastor Jim and I took first place thanks to that little baby.”
“I think you wore that goofy medal until Christmas.”
Dean laughed. “I think Sam cut some of his teeth on it.”
“Don’t doubt it. That was the summer the runt was sticking everything
in his mouth.” Caleb grinned. “Remember Atticus’s squirrel…?”
RcJ
New Haven,
Kentucky - June 1985
Fourteen year-old Caleb Reaves should have been in a happy place. It
was summer break, not another school day in sight for at least three
months, which left plenty of opportunity for scoring a tag-a-long hunt
with John Winchester, some training at the least. Instead, he was in
babysitting hell.
“No, Sammy! Drop it. Now.”
The toddler grinned at him from across the coffee table, dimples
framing each side of his mouth as he chomped on Atticus Finch’s stuffed
squirrel. The two-year-old squealed in delight when the toy squeaked.
Atticus whined, getting up from his bed by the fireplace to come and
stand by the baby.
“As if the potty training fiasco wasn’t bad enough.” Caleb groaned.
“Could you be any more gross, Runt?”
Sam took the toy out, lifting it towards Caleb. “Sammy a dog. Ruff!
Ruff!”
“Sammy is disgusting.”
“No, Caleb. I Atticus Finch.”
The Golden Retriever barked.
“You are a germ magnet wrapped in training pants.”
“I get big boy underwear.”
Caleb shook his head, marveling at why anyone actually wanted children.
“Maybe by kindergarten at the rate you’re going.”
“We dogs go outside,” Sam said. “I go potty now.”
“No!” Caleb gauged the little boy’s intent and grudgingly got off the
couch. “No going outside.”
Sam put the toy back in his mouth, heading straight for the screen door
in the kitchen as fast as his chubby little legs could take him, arms
swinging akimbo in the air like a baby chimpanzee. Atticus Finch was
right on his heels.
“No, Sammy. No!” Caleb wondered if possibly Sam believed his name was
‘Sammy No’ as everyone rarely said one word without the other these
days. It would definitely explain the little boy’s lack of reaction to
the command.
“Red light!”
Dean surprised them both by opening the screen door and coming inside.
The toddler froze at the sound of his older brother’s voice, but
chomped on the squirrel, the toy giving one last piteous squeak that
had Atticus whining again.
“Sammy.” Dean stepped forward, removing Atticus’s toy from his
brother’s mouth, returning it to its rightful owner. He held onto the
little boy’s hand. “That doesn’t go in your mouth.”
“Dean.” Sam beamed up at his brother. “I a dog.”
Caleb grunted. “More like a Venus Flytrap.”
Dean’s brow furrowed in seriousness. “It’s normal for his age.”
Over the last year Caleb had determined there was nothing normal about
the Winchester brothers. “Who says?”
“Mac.”
The teen rolled his eyes. “Of course he did.” Caleb’s adopted father
had taken to doling out childhood development jargon to six year old
Dean. The teen didn’t know if it was because Mac had given up on John
Winchester heeding his advice, or if it was just another attempt to
engage Dean. He was the one to suggest the buzz word as a cue for Sam.
“What happened to only being gone a few minutes? I’ve been held hostage
by the midget for nearly an hour now.”
“Pastor Jim says carving takes patience.”
“If the pastor wants to learn patience, let him watch the toddling
petri dish for a while. I could use a nap.”
“No nap time, Dean.” Sam looked from his brother to Caleb. “I hungry
now.”
“It’s okay.” Dean led his little brother over to the table and pulled
out the highchair Pastor Jim had picked up at the church’s rummage
sale. “Pastor Jim and I are done. We can have a snack.”
Caleb moved to the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher of tea, along
with the milk. “Did the project turn out as great as you hoped it would
be?” Dean was working on something for Father’s Day. Pastor Jim had
sparked the idea when he mentioned the Father’s Day Fish Off at his
church this coming Saturday. First prize was double passes to the
opening of Back to the Future, a free meal for two at The Dinner Bell
in town, and a genuine gold-plated medal.
“It’s good.” Dean helped Sam climb into the chair and strapped him in
before turning green eyes on Caleb. “But I need your help.”
“Me?” Caleb grabbed two glasses and a Winnie The Pooh sippy cup. He
avoided the boy’s gaze, having learned of its uncanny power to thwart
his resolve. “What have I been doing the last hour? You already owe me
your piece of apple pie tonight. What else are you going to come off
with?”
Dean slid the tray in place and Sam banged on it. “Snack. Snack. Snack.”
“I can give you the car you like.”
Caleb grabbed the peanut butter and bread. Dean was talking about his
Matchbox Ferrari that if forced to occupy the kid, Caleb sometimes
claimed as his. If he had to lower himself to child status, at least he
could do it in style. “I’m fourteen. I don’t play with toys.”
“You like video games.”
“Not the same thing.”
Dean took the milk and filled Sam’s sippy cup. “I can do it without you
if you let me borrow some of your paint.”
Caleb captured Sammy’s grubby little hand when he reached for the cup
before Dean was finished pouring. “The last time I let you borrow my
art supplies; I got in trouble for the finger painting on the porch.”
“I make pretty picture for Jim.” Sam greedily clutched the cup after
Dean tightened the lid.
“Right.” Caleb dug a spoon into the peanut butter spreading it on a
slice of bread. “You made hard labor for Caleb. Sammy is a disaster in
a diaper.”
“No diaper. Big boy pants.”
“I helped clean up,” Dean said. He took the bread from Caleb and folded
it, tearing it in half before giving Sam the two pieces.
“Not the point.” Caleb began making another sandwich, adding Jim’s
fresh jam to one side of this one. Sammy didn’t like the seeds. “What
are you going to be using it for?” He smashed the two pieces together
licking a blob of blackberry from his thumb.
Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wooden sculpture.
“The other fish won’t believe my lure is a fish unless I paint it.”
Caleb took the small oblong object from Dean, handing off the sandwich
to the six year old. “You were going for a fish?” The small chunk of
wood was carved smooth, only tiny ripples from Jim’s whittling knife
visible. It favored a rock. “I’m not sure they’re going to buy it as a
fish even with the paint, Dude.”
“Fishes eat worms,” Sam offered. “Yuck.”
Caleb looked at the smiling peanut butter smeared toddler and handed
the unfinished lure back to Dean. “Tiny Einstein has a point. Maybe you
should go dig some earthworms.”
Dean chewed his sandwich with a frown, wiping his mouth with the back
of his hand. “Worms won’t make a very good present.”
“Depends on who it’s for?”
“It’s for Dad for Father’s Day.” Dean placed the lure next to his
sandwich and looked up at Caleb, a gleam in his green eyes. “He can use
it during the big fishing contest at the lake in town. He’ll catch the
biggest fish ever, maybe even Old Earl, and we’ll win first prize. Then
I can take him out to the movies and dinner.”
“Slow down, Opie Taylor.” Caleb poured Dean a glass of tea, sliding the
little boy’s cup over. Caleb’s stomach clenched and the teen was
suddenly aware the sensation had nothing to do with hunger pains.
Dean’s thoughts were coming through loud and clear. “Did you tell
Pastor Jim your big master plan?”
“He told me a story about Old Earl. He’s a catfish as big as Atticus
Finch.” Dean took a gulp of tea. “I told him I thought Daddy could
catch Earl and he said we could make a fishing lure for his present.”
Caleb propped his elbows on the table. “But did you tell Jim why you
wanted your father to catch Earl?”
Dean shrugged. “I told him Daddy used to like movies.”
“Deuce.” Caleb groaned. It was like the Santa Claus thing all over
again. He was certain that Pastor Jim wouldn’t have encouraged the idea
if Dean had explained his plan. The problem was Dean still had a thing
about lengthy conversations when it came to the grownups. One word
answers and nodding was about as good as it got on some days. “Mac and
John are on a hunt. They might not be back by tomorrow.”
“But Daddy said he would be back.”
“When did he say that?”
“Last night on the phone. I told him about the fish off and that Pastor
Jim said we could go. He said that sounded like a lot of fun.”
Caleb sighed. He’d been around the Winchesters enough to realize that
Dean discriminated on who he talked to, however John was selective
about what he listened to. The combination meant that Dean was rarely,
if ever, heard. “And John said he would be home in time to do the
fishing contest with you?”
“Guess what, my boys?”
Dean’s reply was cut off by Jim’s entrance, the screen door banging
behind him. The smiling pastor was carrying a basket of raspberries
he’d picked from the bushes where they grew along the fence line of the
field. “I think I might have beat the birds and found just enough ripe
berries for dessert.”
“I want cookies,” Sam said. “Peanut butter cookies.”
“Sammy,” Dean admonished his brother’s bad manners.
Pastor Jim put the basket down on the table, running a hand over Sam’s
hair with a grin. “I bet we could whip up a quick batch with the peanut
butter you’re wearing, Samuel.”
“I like peanut butter.” Sam picked up the second half of his sandwich.
“Better than worms.”
“Worms?”
Caleb didn’t miss the suspicious look the pastor sent his way that
suggested Caleb might be in trouble if he didn’t clarify quickly. It
was probably because of the mud pie incident. “No insects have entered
his mouth. I swear.”
“Earthworms are annelids,” Dean said, quietly.
Caleb glared at the six year old. “Why don’t you tell Pastor Jim about
your big plans for tomorrow, Deuce?”
Jim moved to the counter to grab a glass, but cast a glance over his
shoulder at Dean. “Is Caleb referring to the fish off, my boy?”
“He told you about it?” Caleb turned in his seat to frown at the
pastor. “About whom he’s entering the contest with?”
“Entering the contest?” Jim brought his glass to the table and reached
for the tea. “I’m not sure I understand.”
Caleb glanced to Dean. “Dean thinks he and his father are going to
enter the fish off.”
“It’s for dads and their kids,” Dean said. “Jim said so.”
“That’s why he’s making the fishing lure as a present.” Caleb turned to
the pastor, arching his brows. He annunciated each word slowly. “So
they can catch Big Earl and win first prize.”
“We have your boat, Jim,” Dean said. “And you told me the fishing lure
I’m making is the best ever. It’s guaranteed to land a big one.”
“Dean, my boy…” Jim sat in the seat closest to the six-year-old. “I’m
afraid our conversation about the contest might have been misleading.
I’m one of the judges going to represent the church. I meant for you,
Caleb, and Samuel to come along to enjoy the picnic afterwards.”
“I like picnics.” Sam looked at his big brother. “What’s a picnic?”
Dean didn’t answer. “But what about the contest? I need to win the big
prize.”
“Son, your father is on a very complicated hunt.” The pastor placed his
hand over Dean’s. “It could extend through the weekend.”
“Father’s Day is Sunday. I saw the commercial on television.” Dean
pulled his hand away, turning his gaze to Caleb. The teen felt his
peanut butter sandwich threatening to make a surprise return. “Dads are
supposed to be with their kids. How will I give him my present?”
“I should have thought about that, Dean,” Pastor Jim said. “This was
most definitely an oversight on my part. You, Samuel and Caleb should
be with your fathers on Sunday.”
Caleb hadn’t really thought about the significance of the day. He had
answered the phone when John called Mac about research on the current
hunt. He knew John was going after something big because Caleb made it
clear he was out of school and free to go. John was even clearer that
no way in hell was the teen going to be allowed to tag along. Mac was
determined that Winchester not go alone. It didn’t sound like a mission
The Guardian had doled out for Knight and Scholar.
“Then you can tell them to come back.”
Caleb watched Jim’s face as he shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry, my
boy.” Caleb was learning even The Guardian had limits.
“I hate you!” Dean screamed at the pastor, pushing his chair back
before storming out of the room.
Caleb heard him stomp up the stairs and slam the door. He looked at the
pastor awaiting the possible explosion.
“Where Dean go?”
“It’s okay, Samuel.” Jim stood but not to go after Dean. He slid the
tray from the highchair and lifted the toddler out, placing him on his
lap. Sam’s bottom lip began to tremble, his eyes filled with tears.
“Dean will be just fine.”
“He didn’t mean that,” Caleb said, still staring at the spot where Dean
had been sitting. It was Caleb’s experience that yelling at adults was
never a good thing.
“Of course he didn’t mean it.” Jim picked up Sam’s sippy cup offering
it to the baby. “And I’m actually quite flattered that Dean feels he
can be honest with me.”
Caleb frowned. “He’s pissed at you.”
“He is upset at the situation as he should be. I need to pay closer
attention to what I’m say and to what he’s trying to tell me. I forget
the way a little boy’s mind works.”
“Dean’s different.”
“Dean has been through a terrible ordeal.” Jim began a slow rocking to
hush Sam’s distress. “It’s hard to learn to trust again when the world
has let you down.” The pastor met Caleb’s gaze. “It is a readjustment
for us all. Dean’s not the only one trying to sort everything out.”
Caleb licked his lips. “Could you find another judge for the contest?”
Jim smiled. “Brother Benjamin is always looking for the opportunity to
step into my shoes and shine in front of the congregation.”
“It wouldn’t take much to load your boat into the old truck.” Caleb’s
mouth twitched. “I can watch the brat if I have to.”
“Sammy not a brat,” Sam said, sleepily. “I a dog.”
Jim laughed. “Now that Samuel has set you straight, perhaps you could
return the favor for Dean.”
Caleb reached across the table to grab the wooden sculpture. “I think I
can handle that.”
He found Dean curled on the double bed he and Sam shared in the room
that adjoined the one Pastor Jim had set up for Caleb. The six year old
was facing the wall and didn’t roll over when Caleb entered. “You’re
not going to finish the big project that way.” The teen took a seat on
the bed. “Don’t think I’m going to do it for you. I’m already getting
your dessert and the red Ferrari. That pretty much leaves you broke
except for one stinking baby brother, and I don’t want or need one of
those.”
Dean rolled over. “You said I was your little brother.”
“No.” Caleb snorted. “I said you were annoying and a pain in the ass
just like a little brother.”
The boy’s face scrunched up as if he were remembering the incident the
way it actually happened the month before at Mackland’s. “You said you
didn’t like me and made me get out of your room.”
“That’s right.” Caleb nodded. “I don’t like you.”
Dean propped on his elbow using his other hand to wipe at his eyes.
“But you don’t mean that.”
“No.” Caleb shrugged. “Not really.”
Dean sat up. “I don’t hate Pastor Jim either.”
“I know.” Caleb had said that and worse to Mac a few times over the
last year. “Sometimes it’s easier to be mad at the people we care about
and who care about us.”
“I really, really like Pastor Jim.”
“You should.” Caleb offered Dean the lure. “He’s going to be your
partner in the big fish off.”
Dean took the lure. “Really?”
“Pretty cool, huh?”
“It’s still not Dad.”
“Sometimes you have to take what you can get, Deuce.” Caleb bumped his
shoulder. “You might be surprised that the consolation prize is better
than the real thing.”
Dean didn’t seem to get what he was saying, but he nodded just the
same. “I guess.”
“What’s the big deal about the fishing thing anyway? John doesn’t
strike me as the outdoors type.”
“If anybody can catch the biggest fish, it’s my dad. He can do
anything.”
Caleb wasn’t going to argue. “And the movie deal?”
Dean curled his fingers around the lure. “My mom liked movies a lot.
Dad used to take her to the theater in town and out to eat. It always
made her really happy.” He looked up at Caleb. “I want my Dad to be
happy again.”
Caleb didn’t want to be the one to crush Dean’s hopes like at Christmas
when the boy thought Santa would deliver his mother back to him. What
Mac called ‘magical thinking’, Pastor Jim would call hope. “I think you
should do the contest with Jim. I believe you can catch that fish.”
“Really?”
“I think you have a better chance than with your Dad.”
“Why?”
“Because your priorities are straight.” Mac was always telling Caleb
how important it was that he did things for a good reason. His father
explained the motives of a good person. “Your heart’s in the right
place.”
Dean opened his hand and looked at the small wooden sculpture in his
palm. “I’ll need the best bait.”
Caleb nudged his shoulder. “Pastor Jim said that thing was guaranteed.”
“It doesn’t look much like a fish now.”
“It will be better after we paint it.”
“You’re going to help?”
“I’ll supervise.”
Dean nodded. “I’ll use black and red.”
“I haven’t seen many fish that color.”
“I want it to be lucky, so I’m using Dad’s favorite color and Sammy’s
favorite color.”
“Black and red it is.” Caleb stood to get his art kit. “Maybe fish are
colorblind.”
“Predatory fish have cones that allow them to see color, but catfish
only have rods.”
Caleb didn’t even want to know where Dean had gotten that bit of
trivia. The Winchesters were so not normal. “But do you know what kind
of fish Big Earl is?”
Dean didn’t miss a beat. “A dog fish?”
The teen couldn’t stop his laugh as he thought about Pastor Jim’s
exaggerated reference to Atticus Finch. He reached out and ruffled
Dean’s hair. “You’re not half bad, Deuce.”
The little boy smiled. “I really like you too, Damien.”
RcJ
New Haven,
Kentucky - Sometime in the future…
“I caught Big Earl. Dad and Mac made it back for the movie the
following week.” Dean didn’t remember going to the show or what they
ate at The Dinner Bell, but he remembered his father’s laugh, the sound
he had missed since his mother’s death.
“Of course.” Caleb smirked. “I’m almost always right.”
Dean took the lure back from his friend. "I thought saving the world
and being The Guardian were hard. I got to tell you, being a dad is
harder.”
“You are a damn good Guardian, Deuce. But you’re one hell of a dad.
Better than Johnny ever got a chance to be because you’re heart is
still in the right place.”
"You’re not a half bad best friend.”
“I am an awesome best friend.” Caleb smiled. “After all, I was the one
who got stuck babysitting stinky Sam while you lived it up at the
movies.”
“Who are you calling stinky?”
“You, Runt.” Caleb turned to Dean. “You think maybe that medal was lead
based? It would explain a lot.”
“I thought you two geniuses might like to know that the boys have
started a game of Capture the Flag.”
Dean groaned, lifting the beer bottle to his head. “I’ve warned James
and Max about that game…”
“Bobby’s taking bets,” Sam said.
Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course he is.”
“Bobby was always up for some good boyish fun.” Caleb smirked. “What
kind of odds is he giving?”
Sam frowned. “The odds are someone will end up with stitches.”
Dean turned to look over his shoulder. The distance and the thick woods
separating him and the farmhouse didn’t allow for a visual. “Where the
hell is Josh?”
“Esme sent him on an ice run. She promised the girls homemade ice cream
for dessert.”
“How convenient.” Dean gestured to Caleb. "Today is the day I’m
supposed to get a break, a day of worshipping at the feet of
fatherhood. This is a job for The Knight.” Dean leaned back in the
chair. “Besides you were the one who thought that game would be a great
training exercise.”
“Great suturing and splint training for Ben,” Sam said.
“You do realize you’re still tattling, right, Runt? Did Mac promise you
a Ben Franklin?”
“I don’t do it for the money. Thwarting your influence gives me
purpose.”
Caleb stood, pointing his beer at Sam. “This is exactly why I am their
favorite uncle.”
Sam grabbed the beer for himself, sidestepping Caleb as the Knight
strode past him. “Keep telling yourself that, old man.”
Dean smiled, taking another swig of his beer. “Josh wonders where Max
got the dramatic exit thing.”
Sam stole the bucket once Caleb had gone. D’Artagnan and Porthos
followed The Knight’s lead, but Dill remained, propping her head on
Sam’s knee for a good ear scratching. Dean could feel his brother’s
gaze as he stared out at the water.
“You okay?”
“I thought you won the Rock Paper Scissors match? Caleb already came
out to poke the pink elephant.”
Sam didn’t deny Dean’s accusation. He grinned. “Caleb’s as bad as you
at that game.”
“I always let you win.”
Sam slid a hand over Dill’s head, letting his fingers glide through her
silver tipped fur. “So you guys talked?”
Dean laughed. “Dude, I’m fine. I just came out to make sure the boat
was secure. As hot as it is, we’ll probably get one hell of a
thunderstorm tonight.”
“That’s all it was?”
“You want me tell you I was thinking about Dad?”
“You still miss him.”
“Some days more than others.”
Sam sighed. “I haven’t thought about him in a long time.”
Dean looked at his brother. ”You think that’s a good thing?”
“I think that means that I’ve forgiven him.” Sam met his gaze with a
smile. “And I should understand how important clemency is.”
Dean nodded. He had long since accepted his father wasn’t perfect, no
one was. He also understood why Sam felt the things he did. As
complicated as their relationship with their father was, Dean couldn’t
let go easily. “What about when Mary was born?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean when JT and James were born, when I found out the truth about
Ben…Hell, I would have given about anything to have rung up the old
man. There are still days when I have to make a judgment call about
something one of them has asked me or something they’ve done and I just
wish I could ask his advice. You know?”
Sam shook his head. “You’re the first person I called when Lydia went
into labor,” he said simply. “You were the only one I wanted to talk
to.”
Dean licked his lips. “You remind me of Dad when you’re with Mary.”
Sam ran a hand through his hair. “I hope not.”
“I meant the way he was before Mom. The way he was with you when you
were little.”
“Dad didn’t teach me to tie my shoes, take me to my first ball game, or
give the birds and the bee's speech. He wasn’t there all the times I
needed understanding. Dad didn’t put me back together after the Lucifer
thing.”
“He was still our father.”
“I know, but if I’m a good father, Dean, it’s because of you.”
Dean peeled at the label of his beer. “I don’t know about that.”
“I do," Sam said. "You’ve always been there for me, even when I didn’t
always deserve it. You believed in me. When Lydia found out she was
pregnant, you promised me it would be alright. When she left me and
Mary you got me through it. You brought Caleb and staked out her crib
with me all night the night she turned six months. When I have
questions, doubts, I talk to you. You’re the best father I know. You’ve
been the only father I’ve ever really known. You’ve never failed to
point me in the right direction.”
“I’m like your True North?” Dean was pretty sure he didn’t deserve the
accolade his brother was dishing out, but it dulled the ache in his
chest he’d had since waking up that morning. He found he didn’t even
have to force himself to smile. “Tell me this isn’t where you re-gift
that old compass yet again, the one with the sappy poetry written on
it.”
Sam returned the grin. “Sorry. I gave it to Ben when he went to
college.”
Dean laughed. The long ago ‘Father’s Day’ gift had made its rounds
between them and to Caleb on occasion. It was fitting that it now
resided with Dean’s eldest. “That’s okay, I’m sure one of his brothers
will be seeing it again if they make it to high school graduation.”
“True.” Sam snickered. “Ben is a Winchester after all.”
“Damn straight.” Dean lifted his beer. “To the Winchesters.”
Sam clinked his bottle against it. “To the Winchesters.”
Dean took a long drink, taking a moment to enjoy the silent comraderie
with his brother. "Hey, Sammy?"
"Yeah?"
"How about we take the kids into town and catch a show tomorrow?"
"I don't know, man. I'm planning for my summer term class at the
university and researching a hunt for Ethan."
"Work can wait." Dean leaned forward. "That new Disney movie is
playing. The brats will eat it up."
"Disney?" Sam groaned. "Really?"
"What?" Dean grinned. "You used to love the princesses, Samantha."
"When I was two." Sam snorted. "Long before I lived with one."
"Popcorn and Coke's on me." Dean raised a brow. "I'll even through in
some Red Hots."
Sam's mouth twitched. "You going to make the boys tag along?"
"Depends on what kind of presents I score."
His brother laughed. Sam's laugh sounded a lot like their father's.
"Then you can count me in."
"That's my boy." Dean tapped his beer to his brother's again, even more
thankful for all his dad had given them.