![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
And here we are, embarking on week 2 which is wing!fic week. I was going to write a series of John POVs but another story occurred to me which I have been roughly outlining and carries the current arc forward and also introduces some ideas I've had for a while. But, I already had this John POV in mind so you get this one first.
Title: Family Business
Rating/Warning: PG
Wordcount: 524 (Goal 200)
Spoilers: None
Fandom: SPN
By:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kellifer_fic
Category: Gen - wing!fic, wee!chesters. (Sam 12, Dean 16)
Notes: Part of my gen wing!fic verse.
Disclaimer: Written for entertainment purposes only. No money, no sue.
John sees the knife and the blood first.
He automatically thinks possession, one or the other of his sons and they are attacking each other and nononononononono but then the fact that the bathroom is covered in goddamn feathers and that Dean and Sam have instinctively moved closer together has him stilling.
“What are you-?” John is at a loss and the only thing he can think to do is the separate both boys and take stock. He hauls Dean out of the bathroom by his scruff, something that’s getting harder to do now Dean’s eyes are level with his chin instead of his chest, and leaves Sam in the bathroom.
He only pauses on his way out the door to holler at Sam to stay in the bathroom and then he’s outside, air fresh and clean in his nose. He’s not sure what to do, just yanks the door of the Impala open and then sits in the car, forehead on the steering wheel. After about half an hour of just breathing, he digs his cell phone out of his pocket and looks at it.
He has no one he can call with this.
He stays outside for about three hours, long enough to stop thinking he’s going to throw up every few seconds and pulled together enough to show nothing on his face. When he goes back in the house is eerily silent. He finds Sam still in the bathroom and knows the kid must have been terrified to have not sought out his brother sooner. John beckons, grimacing when Sammy slip-slides on the bloody tile underneath his feet.
He steers Sammy towards the kitchen, pushing the boys’ bedroom door open on his way past. He sits at the kitchen table and pulls Sam backwards into the V his legs make, Dean hovering in the doorway. John runs his hands over the tiny shoulder-blades of his youngest, pulling free the fine arc of bone that rests against the otherwise unblemished skin. It’s a wing and even though the feathers couldn’t have meant anything else, it’s still a little bit of a shock. The other shoulder blade is pink and has tiny dots of blood welling.
“How long?” John asks, feeling Sammy tensing under his hands.
“Started when he was ten, I think,” Dean answers from his place at the threshold, eyes dark and pained.
There’s a kind of rushing noise in John’s ears and there’s more said but he doesn’t really pay attention to it. If he’s done this. If he’s responsible for this…
He’s not quite sure how he’ll handle it.
“Should I even him up?” Dean asks and John just blinks at him for a second before he realises just what Dean is proposing. The image of the knife and the blood wash his vision white for a moment and he digs teeth into his bottom lip to stop from screaming.
“I’m sure they’ll even up when they grow out a little,” John says. “No more keeping stuff from me, okay?”
The boys agree like he knows they would but for the first time in his life, John doesn’t believe them.
Title: Family Business
Rating/Warning: PG
Wordcount: 524 (Goal 200)
Spoilers: None
Fandom: SPN
By:
kellifer_ficCategory: Gen - wing!fic, wee!chesters. (Sam 12, Dean 16)
Notes: Part of my gen wing!fic verse.
Disclaimer: Written for entertainment purposes only. No money, no sue.
John sees the knife and the blood first.
He automatically thinks possession, one or the other of his sons and they are attacking each other and nononononononono but then the fact that the bathroom is covered in goddamn feathers and that Dean and Sam have instinctively moved closer together has him stilling.
“What are you-?” John is at a loss and the only thing he can think to do is the separate both boys and take stock. He hauls Dean out of the bathroom by his scruff, something that’s getting harder to do now Dean’s eyes are level with his chin instead of his chest, and leaves Sam in the bathroom.
He only pauses on his way out the door to holler at Sam to stay in the bathroom and then he’s outside, air fresh and clean in his nose. He’s not sure what to do, just yanks the door of the Impala open and then sits in the car, forehead on the steering wheel. After about half an hour of just breathing, he digs his cell phone out of his pocket and looks at it.
He has no one he can call with this.
He stays outside for about three hours, long enough to stop thinking he’s going to throw up every few seconds and pulled together enough to show nothing on his face. When he goes back in the house is eerily silent. He finds Sam still in the bathroom and knows the kid must have been terrified to have not sought out his brother sooner. John beckons, grimacing when Sammy slip-slides on the bloody tile underneath his feet.
He steers Sammy towards the kitchen, pushing the boys’ bedroom door open on his way past. He sits at the kitchen table and pulls Sam backwards into the V his legs make, Dean hovering in the doorway. John runs his hands over the tiny shoulder-blades of his youngest, pulling free the fine arc of bone that rests against the otherwise unblemished skin. It’s a wing and even though the feathers couldn’t have meant anything else, it’s still a little bit of a shock. The other shoulder blade is pink and has tiny dots of blood welling.
“How long?” John asks, feeling Sammy tensing under his hands.
“Started when he was ten, I think,” Dean answers from his place at the threshold, eyes dark and pained.
There’s a kind of rushing noise in John’s ears and there’s more said but he doesn’t really pay attention to it. If he’s done this. If he’s responsible for this…
He’s not quite sure how he’ll handle it.
“Should I even him up?” Dean asks and John just blinks at him for a second before he realises just what Dean is proposing. The image of the knife and the blood wash his vision white for a moment and he digs teeth into his bottom lip to stop from screaming.
“I’m sure they’ll even up when they grow out a little,” John says. “No more keeping stuff from me, okay?”
The boys agree like he knows they would but for the first time in his life, John doesn’t believe them.
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