Work Text:
1996
Jan. 24
Dean turns seventeen today. We went shooting. Then I sent him out on his first hunt. I've let him take the lead before, but I've always been there to back him up. This time he's on his own. Partly it's a test, and partly I wanted some time with Sammy. Should be no problem for Dean. Ghosts of two nuns haunting St. Stephen's Indian Mission in Riverton, Wyoming. Simple salt-and-burn mission. Nuns in love with each other, then discovered. Killed themselves. We scoped the situation out,figured that something must be left behind that's now a focus for the haunting. Bible, rosary beads, some small article that's hidden somewhere in their room. I figured Dean would take care of it no problem, but I still stayed close by with Sammy.
The boys are old enough now that we can start spending a little more time in one place. Thinking California, maybe. When I need to fly solo, they're big enough to stay home by themselves for a while without me worrying. When we go on a hunt together, they can bring their homework. That's what I wanted to talk to Sammy about. It's going to be hard enough getting his bullheaded self through adolescence without also having to fight every other day about how he wants to be Jimmy Normal. We can make this work if we do it together—but he's going to have to know that everyone pulls their weight. Mary comes first.
Dean took care of the nuns just like I thought he would, but I don't think I'm going to be sending him on any more solos soon. That one was a little tense.
~
Seventeen years old.
Dean’s shooting at empty bottles in the forest a few miles outside of Riverton, Wyoming. His dad’s doing the same. They talk a little bit in between. Dean’s almost the perfect shooter now. It’s not something most kids do on their birthdays, probably. Dean doesn’t know what most kids would think about this, to be honest. He doesn’t know if it’s normal. He doesn’t really care, either. Normal is a door that’s closed. Normal is thirteen years ago, before the fire. Normal was murdered and torn apart as a four year old ran outside with his baby brother in his arms. And anyways, it’s kinda nice. This is some of the only time he gets to spend with his dad. Quality time, at least. Time that isn’t completely shouted out in orders and commands mixed with insults to get shit done. Not that Dean minds that much. His dad’s just...doing his best. That’s what Dean reminds himself anytime he comes close to considering running away or dreaming of a normal life or asking his dad not to yell as loud as he does. It's what he reminded himself of when he left Sonny's boys' home. He couldn't leave Sam, and his dad was just doing his best. Trying to teach him a lesson. He’s doing his best.
Sammy’s sitting a couple dozen feet behind them. He’s reading some book that Dean doesn’t remember the title to, knees pulled up to his chest, face scrunched up with concentration. Dean can’t help but feel bad that they’re not normal sometimes. Just because of his brother. Sam wants to go to school, and go to college, and just live a normal life. Dean can’t exactly blame him sometimes. But their dad’s doing his best. Once they find whatever killed their mom, maybe Sam can have a normal life. Maybe their father’ll calm down. Dean pushes the thoughts away, though. For now, there’s only hunting. For now, dad’s doing his best.
“Found a hunt in town.”
Dean looks over as his dad speaks, lowering the gun in his hand. “In Riverton?” he asks. His father nods.
“Coupla ghosts haunting a church. Should be a simple salt n’ burn,” he says. Dean uncocks his gun.
“When are we heading over?”
“I’m dropping you off.”
Dean tries not to act surprised or confused.
“Should be pretty quick. The grave I’m thinking belongs to the ghosts was unmarked until a while ago, but now there’s a tiny white cross.”
The grave? One? “Why was it unmarked?” he asks. John gives him a look that Dean can’t read.
“The ghosts used to be nuns. Nuns that...fell in love with each other. Killed themselves when they were discovered.”
Dean’s stomach drops and twists, making him shift uncomfortably on his feet. “Oh,” is all he can say as his blood seems to turn to ice and his heart beats just a bit faster. He’s managed to stay calm on hunt after hunt, but this is terrifying in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time.
“Should be quick. Think you can handle it?”
Dean wants to throw up. Why is he saying it like that? His dad’s tone sounds wrong. It all sounds so wrong somehow. Dean’s heart pounds heard, and he hopes his dad can’t hear it like he can. Does he know? He can’t know. Dean hasn’t done anything that he can know about, and it doesn’t make any sense, how does he know-
“Yessir,” he says, keeping his voice even and steady in the way he’s had to practice doing so much. “I can handle it.”
The drive to the church is slow and agonizing. Dean can’t look at his father. He doesn’t think his father looks at him. When they get there, he checks to make sure the lighter’s in his pocket, before opening the car door and stepping out. “Make me proud,” he hears from the driver’s side. Dean finally looks at his dad. And God, by the look on his face, he has to know.
Dean nods once, before heading up to the church with the shovel and the salt-filled shotgun.
He hears the car drive away, the rumbling growing more distant somehow comforting. He tries to focus on the hunt. But all that’s in his head is he knows. He knows that this is deadly. He can’t afford distractions. He sees one of the ghosts coming as he starts to dig up the grave (he knows-), he drops the shovel and shoots (he knows-), the second ghost attacks (he knows-), he hits the ground (he knows-), he shoots again (he knows-), he makes a circle of salt as best and as quickly as he can around himself and keeps digging (he knows-), he finally sees the box, pries it open, salts it and sees the rosary beads around both the corpses’ hands (he knows-), he closes his eyes and drops the lighter and lets it all burn (he knows, he knows, he knows-)
He opens his eyes and stares into the flames. He has the sudden urge to jump in and burn, too. But he stops himself. He stops himself from burning, or from running away and never going back to his family. This is a warning. It’s his dad trying to teach him something. And Dean’s not stupid enough not to listen. His dad’s right, about most things, so he has to listen. He has to pay attention to the warnings. His father’s trying his best to raise him right. Dean reminds himself of that. Reminds himself that he has no right to want to run. Reminds himself that it’s something that’ll pass. All of it will pass. He just has to listen to his dad. His dad, who’s trying his best. He has to be.
It’s okay that he knows.
He’s trying his best to keep Dean from fucking up and making any stupid mistakes.
Of course.
Right.
Right...?