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May Robinson [userpic]

New Fic: Armistice (ch 1 of 9)

August 21st, 2007 (09:40 pm)
how i am: busy
accompanied by: Jason & Jensen singing Van Morrison

Summary: Pre-series. A hunt gone terribly wrong prompts John's first trip to Stanford. Dean's hurt and hurting, father and son angst ensues. Chapter 1 of 9.
Rating: T, language. "F-bombs" in abundance, if not excess.
Pairing: None, Gen, John & Dean Winchester
Spoilers: None but for the quote from "Bugs" shown below.
Disclaimers: See my profile page.

A/N/Comments/Warnings: 1) Still testing the waters, I've used John's POV to tell my story this time. With that in mind and working with the "Sam's been gone 2 years" premise, it's March, 2004, roughly six months since Sam left for Stanford and John's still bitter, so his thoughts are unkind at times. Adhering to canon here so I'm afraid Sammy only makes a cameo appearance in this fic. Despite his absence, I hope you'll feel his presence all through the story.

2) Though I'm not posting the story in its entirety today, it is written to completion and is loaded at ff.net if anyone wants to read it in a fell swoop over there. Chapters 7 thru 9 however are being reviewed by Heather, my medical beta, and may have some changes by the time I post them here. I'm hoping to have all 9 chapters posted between tonight and Labor Day weekend.

3) Thanks to my wonderful best buddy and beta, Penny for pinch-hitting and improving my work as always. 

Go to chapter 2

by May Robinson

"Even when you two weren't talking, he used to swing by Stanford whenever he could, keep an eye on you, make sure you were safe." (Bugs, episode 1.07)

Chapter 1 - Battle Lines

John Winchester was pissed. And he had Jim Murphy to blame. For all of it. Jim, with his oh-so sincere delivery, trying to convince John that going on this hunt couldn't hurt. Wouldn't make matters worse. "If anything, it might heal some wounds still festering after all these months," he'd said. Yeah, right. John may have said yes to the job but any other side-trips Jim had envisioned - let's say to, oh, I don't know, California, maybe? - were definitely out of the question.

Unfortunately the seed had firmly been planted in Dean's head though and all John wanted to do now was kick Jim Murphy's ass. Christ, six months ago John had already alienated - no, check that, exiled - one son and if this night kept deteriorating any further, he'd be rapidly working his way into running a one-man operation.

Fucking Jim.

John felt no shame in cursing the man. John already knew where his one-way ticket was headed. Cussing out Jim would only help ensure he'd stay in the express lane.

Things had been awkward enough with Dean ever since Sam had stomped out their door but now, now that they were thisclose to the State line, Dean seemed to think behaving like his brother was on the program for the evening. Like that would help. What the hell is it about California that brings out insubordination in my kids?

All right, so he knew the attraction for his youngest had been that full ride. And escape, apparently but John had no intention of going there. . . his mood was foul enough as it was, thank-you very little. Kid got himself a scholarship, to Stanford, no less. Always knew the little shit was too smart for his own good. For our own good.

And Dean, well, aside from the plentiful bubble-headed bleach blondes (thank-you, Don Henley) that were turning his head back at the coffee shop and bar near the motel, Dean was here simply because it was another job. But he was acting out this way because of Sam. "And you know you only have yourself to thank for that, John," echoed in his head. Thank-you, Pastor Jim. Or as Dean might say, Pastor Obvious.

Fucking pile of rock should've slid off the continent decades ago.

"You know it's only four hours from here, Dad." The kid was not letting up.

John groaned. Trying desperately to keep from growling. Suddenly his shovel felt pretty damn good in his hands as he gouged it deeper into the grave. Envisioning the annihilation of Jim's self-satisfied smirk with every bite of earth the spade carved.

"Even less, if I do the driving."

"Dean, I said no," he barked, trying to keep the venom from his voice but knowing his tone was still too harsh. Why couldn't Dean let this go? It was after 1:00 a.m., they were in the middle of a hunt, and John was trying to be understanding. Even volunteered to do the dirty work and dig up Peter Wellington's grave instead of flipping a coin like they'd normally do. Well, normal, as defined now since Sam had left.

Bad idea in hindsight; gave Dean too much time to stand there with a flashlight and salt-gun and think. Calculate. Hard labor would've done the kid some good. Take out his frustrations. John would happily switch places with Dean now but he'd already felt the familiar solidity of wood beneath that last scoop he'd dug, so there'd be no point in trading off. At least something had gone right tonight. The spirit would be history in no time.

Truthfully, he'd felt awfully bad for tearing a strip off Dean last night. And the night before. Today.


Kid missed his brother. John understood that. Really. Didn't change a goddamn thing.

Sammy'd made his choice and, whether Palo Alto was four days or four hours away, nothing was going to change that boy's mind. Not even his big brother.

John knew Dean had tried calling his brother; knew Sam wasn't answering or returning Dean's calls. Information was something Jim Murphy was good for at least. Hell, Jim was the first to open John's eyes to the resurgence of Dean's silences. And once John was reminded to look past his own misery and self-flagellation, it didn't take him long to recognize the signs from Dean either: that lack of spark and a too-familiar resigned submission. That dark pall of abandonment cloaking his oldest son almost as wholly as it had more than two decades before.

Dean might think he knew what he wanted but John knew better. And there was no way in hell John was going to risk Sammy kicking his brother in the teeth while Dean was already down. Oh, Sam would never consciously target Dean, but Dean would throw himself into the line of fire. Every fucking time. John knew this firsthand because he was an expert marksman himself and, after the last time the three Winchesters shared the same breathing space, John wasn't certain Dean could survive another ricochet let alone a direct hit. Sure as hell didn't deserve it, despite John's own evidence to the contrary these last couple days.

Even though John might not be able to control his own ill temper as well as he'd hoped, he sure as hell could control whether or not a trip to Palo Alto was in the cards.

"Then, I'm going without you."

Alrighty then, apparently John's control was up for debate now too. Time to squash this like a cockroach. He was still running this show.

"Jesus, Dean, enough already," he yelled, stopping the excavation long enough to level a hard gaze at his son. Despite the cover of night, he couldn't miss the look of defiance on Dean's face, reminding him too much of Sam and raising his hackles higher. "Get your head in the game, goddamn it, and keep that light steady. I'm almost there."

The requisite "yes, sir" was absent but at least Dean had the good sense to refrain from saying anything else he might've considered while John cleaned off the remaining layers of dirt coating Wellington's coffin. Using the blade of the shovel's scoop, John easily hacked through the splintering wood, exposing the remains of one irate ghost presently turning a newlywed couple's dream home into a nightmare.

Satisfied everything was in order to execute a standard salt and burn, he tossed the spade up to ground level then reached up to his eldest for the container of salt. No words were necessary. Whether Dean was pissed with his old man or not, they both could perform this routine blindfolded.

Which was why Dean not relinquishing his grip on the salt felt so out of place. Father and son worked together like veterans of an assembly line. Hell, Henry Ford would've been impressed. Didn't matter which of them stood up top or below, John and Dean Winchester always worked in sync.

John looked up into Dean's face, not all that easy to read when the only light available was pointing away from the kid. Still, when their eyes met John could have cringed at the way Dean was working his jaw, clenching in Sammy-like determination, clearly unwilling to release his hold on the salt until he had his say.

"Dad, I'm serious here," and John knew he was. Boy rarely used this assertive tone with him. Only ever did when the subject was Sam. No surprise really then when he said, "You can stay at the motel or come with; I don't care. But I'm heading for Stanford come daylight."

"Like hell you--"

If John hadn't been working so hard alternately trying to smash Jim's smugness along with Dean's rebelliousness into the night, he might've noticed the sudden drop in temperature and subsequent increase in wind. As it was, the only warning that Peter Wellington's spirit wasn't actually bound to the house he'd died in was the fact that it had presently appeared directly behind Dean, elevated slightly thanks to a decided disregard for gravity, and was hovering with that evil-incarnate sneer that only things other-worldly seemed to possess.

There was no hesitation on John's part, aside from his eyes widening at the moment of realization; he couldn't have acted more quickly if he'd been Superman himself.

And still it wasn't enough. Again, words weren't necessary and Dean's eyes flared in alarm as years of training took over and, in an instant, John's eldest released the flashlight and dropped to the ground. Grabbing up the cocked salt-gun he'd relinquished in lieu of the salt, he rolled to his back, firing instantaneously. But at this too-close range, with the ghost already upon him, enveloping him, his shot had no choice but to go wide.

"Fuck!" Both father and son swore in unison as the situation, bad as it was, went straight to hell as Dean was ruthlessly catapulted across four rows of headstones. Landing, now weaponless, with an appalling sounding grunt, well away from and out of John's sight.

"Dean! No!" John screamed, scrambling up out of the grave and gathering up the fallen salt-gun while already in pursuit, chasing after the evil specter that was now stalking his son. The gun had one shot left and John had to resist every paternal instinct shouting at him to just fire the damn thing, fire it now, instead of waiting until he was within range. Until that fucker Wellington was practically on top of Dean once again, before taking aim.

Dean hadn't moved nor made a sound and John had to tamp down the worry threatening to wrench him out of his control and, for the moment, ignore his boy's crumpled form and concentrate on the menace advancing on his son. He couldn't shake off the role of dad completely though and when he pulled the trigger, he practically growled at the apparition reaching again for Dean, "Don't you fucking touch him, you sonofabitch."

The ghost evaporated in a haze of scattering dust and salt and John continued his forward momentum, dropping to his knees next to his fallen son. Dean was breathing, thank God, but slumped awkwardly against an ornate, granite monument, the biggest one in the row. Of course.

Eyes hurriedly scanning his son, John's breath hitched in dismay at the unsettling sight. Oh, shit. This does not look good. But for one arm resting above his head, presumably thrown outward to provide protection from the impact with the cluster of headstones he'd been hurled into, Dean's limbs were curled inward as he lay on his side. A wholly unnatural and disturbing position for John to find the adult Dean at rest in. It reminded too much of Mary's little Dean, and John definitely could not afford to get caught up in those memories.

There was still too much at stake.

Lightly grasping Dean's nearest shoulder, John jostled it slightly, swallowing the bitterness working its way up his throat, before coaxing, no demanding, "Dean, c'mon, son. Wake-up for me, damn it," and getting nothing in response. Nothing. Please, God, let him wake up. He always wakes up.

Practiced hands, though alien in their hesitancy, searched for injury and none could be found anywhere but for a nasty, ominous gash high on Dean's forehead, open and leaking blood. John cursed at the sight, allowed his simmering anger to build and steady his traitorous hands, channeling his mounting fear and guilt into the emotion that had always served him best in battle. He could always handle rage better than grief in a fight.

"Sorry, sport," he murmured, drawing a penlight from his pocket and shining the narrow beam first into one deftly prodded open eye and then the other. "Shit," he sighed heavily at Dean's unequal pupils. Concussion. Not surprising, given what had happened and the fact Dean was still out cold but John couldn't fault himself the false hope that Dean was okay and would come to any second. He was the kid's dad after all. Irrational hope sprung eternal as John applied steady pressure to the gash, wishing the discomfort would awaken Dean, if not now, then as he wrapped the wound in his dad's now discarded over-shirt.

Still nothing. Nothing at all. "Damn it, Dean. C'mon, wake the fuck up."

Every ounce of medical training John had acquired over the years commanded him to call 9-1-1, wait for an ambulance and not dare risk any further injury to his oldest. But hunter's instinct and experience told him he didn't have that choice. Wellington would be back - it was a wonder he hadn't resurfaced already - so there was simply no way in hell John could just sit there and wait for help while fending off the powerful entity that had taken a decided dislike toward his kid. Nor could he finish off the bastard and risk having to explain a fire and a desecrated grave to the local cops who would undoubtedly answer the 9-1-1 call as well.

So, with a silent prayer asking for both forgiveness and help from Mary, he reached for the salt-gun, intending to ready it again before moving Dean.

No sooner had he relinquished his hold on Dean and begun to load two new shells, Wellington literally swooped in on a gust of chilled air and grabbed Dean by his out-flung arm, dragging him away from John as if Dean were a toy trailing behind the psychotic child who'd claimed him.

"No fucking way!" John cried out in fury, giving chase again and firing the gun - both barrels this time - at the spirit that had set its sights on Dean. John seldom missed what he was aiming at and, with so much to lose, his skills were especially lethal. Wellington, incensed and fairly howling with shock and rage, vanished into the night once again but not before cruelly dumping Dean, defenseless and out of John's reach yet again, to the ground in another motionless heap.

Wellington hadn't gotten very far at all before being sidelined by the rock-salt so the hunter quickly made his way over to his son. Increasingly dismayed that Dean still had not uttered a sound nor moved a muscle since his ordeal began, John could feel his own fury overtaking him as he hunkered down next to him, once again taking in the image of this crumpled version of his perpetually resilient son. Christ, Dean was as durable as a Timex and his father was having one hell of a time reconciling that picture of Dean with the one lying unconscious at his feet.

"All right, kiddo. You just hang in there," he breathed. Clamping down on his most intense emotions, he spoke softly to Dean as he carefully checked and rearranged the makeshift bandage he'd placed earlier around Dean's head. Lightly patting the kid's chest, he steeled himself. "This ends now," he vowed. "I'm ending it."

Convinced that, before he could do anything more for Dean, he had no choice but to eliminate the most immediate threat they faced, John gathered his son in his arms, cradling him against his chest and carrying him over to the excavated grave. Placing him a safe distance from the impending flames but still nearby, John rested Dean's head atop the jacket he'd removed before starting to dig up the grave. Back when he'd believed the worst thing he'd have to deal with this night was Dean aggravating the hell out of him. Back when he'd been a fucking stubborn fool.

Generously sprinkling a protection circle around Dean, he then emptied the remainder of the salt into the grave and quickly doused the coffin and its remains with what was clearly an excessive amount of lighter fluid. John didn't care. Peter Wellington was going to fry.

Striking a match, John flipped it into the grave and, as the contents went up in bursts of flame, he dove toward Dean, draping himself over his son. Cradling Dean's head in the crook of his arms and using his body as a shield against the blaze's sparks and debris, John kept his senses alert, aware that he was also sheltering Dean from the very real possibility of Wellington trying to make a last ditch effort to go after him.

Just as John suspected, what could only be described as an enraged wail suddenly echoed through the trees and bounced off the gravestones as newly erupted winds whipped and whirled around John and his son. The flurry lasted only a second or two before disappearing as quickly as it had arrived and, as the cemetery abruptly became ethereally quiet, John knew the danger to Dean that had been Peter Wellington was over.

He didn't get up though, couldn't pull away. Knowing that damage had already been done.

Dean had remained unaware, oblivious to this latest attack and its aftermath and, now that the threat was gone, John found himself once again facing the stark reality of Dean's predicament. Hell, Dean should be cursing now, fuming over the abuse inflicted by Wellington, or at least cracking jokes about the ghost's preference for him, not John. Using humor in an attempt to assuage John's guilt just like he'd been doing nearly every damn day since he'd joined his father in the hunt.

Finally gathering his wits, John collected their supplies, brought them over to the nearby Impala and unceremoniously deposited them into the trunk. Wasting no time, John returned for his son, gently hefting him into his arms once again and carrying him over to the sedan. "Easy does it," he said, as he carefully slid Dean into the back seat, giving the kid a running commentary of what he was doing. He knew full well that Dean couldn't hear him but the silence had become too damn oppressive. And John would rather hear his own voice than the one sounding off in his head right then, the one telling him, in no uncertain terms, that all this movement was doing Dean more harm than good.

Stubbornly ignoring the over-grown twenty-year-old invading his thoughts, John continued tending to Dean, elevating his legs, pillowing his head, and placing a blanket over the kid's limp form before reluctantly turning away, closing the door and climbing into the driver's seat.

St. Mary's Regional their destination, Todd Rundgren's thunderous guitar from Bat Out of Hell fittingly accompanying the Chevy's roar as John raced out of the cemetery, burning rubber in a way Dean was never, ever permitted to do even now that the car was his. But that was okay. John would willingly let Dean chew him out over it. John would endure anything, if only Dean would just wake the hell up.

To be continued (scroll up above the title to find the link to chapter 2).

This fic is being cross-posted to 


Posted Nov '07 to the_backroads


Posted by: Lady Cyon (wofl_iron)
Posted at: August 22nd, 2007 05:15 am (UTC)
SPN - Dean hospital kink what?

Oh my. I love this so much. Your John voice is wonderful. He's not perfect, and he's not awful. He's a human being and you've done a very good job of showing that. And allow me to count the ways I love Dean's "standing up to John" he's so adorably awesome. I like the detail that the only times Dean stands up to John, it involves Sam. <333

Very much looking forward to future installments! Great job with this.

Posted by: May Robinson (may7fic)
Posted at: August 22nd, 2007 02:44 pm (UTC)

Thank-you, I'm so glad chapter 1 grabbed your attention. "Human" John is the portrayal I'm after, both the ass and the hero Dean referred to last season. I just love the man, if not all the decisions/choices he's made.

I'm hoping to have ch 2 loaded tonight or tomorrow at the latest. In the meantime, if I may be so bold, I invite you to check out "All Told" posted on Sunday, in which I try, through Bobby and Dean, to address more of John's humanity.

Thanks again!

Posted by: Lady Cyon (wofl_iron)
Posted at: August 22nd, 2007 03:40 pm (UTC)

Posted by: May Robinson (may7fic)
Posted at: August 23rd, 2007 12:26 am (UTC)

Posted by: riveria (riveria)
Posted at: August 22nd, 2007 01:28 pm (UTC)

This is a fabulous start! Looking forward to more. :)

Posted by: May Robinson (may7fic)
Posted at: August 22nd, 2007 02:45 pm (UTC)

Thanks! More to come tonight or tomorrow at the latest :)

Posted by: vesuvianite (vesuvianite)
Posted at: August 22nd, 2007 03:37 pm (UTC)

I liked this a lot. I went ahead and read the whole thing at FF, since you'd told us it was there (and thanks for that, BTW). You did a great job of protraying both John and Dean's pain (mental for John, physical for Dean). Your descriptions of Dean's painful head was so vivid, it seemed very real.

As to that trip to Stanford, even though I knew it was canon that Sam didn't know that John and Dean had been checking up on him, I still expected that they would have an actual meeting with Sammy. It wasn't until maybe the paragraph before Dean freaked at the prospect of John fetching Sam that I knew what Dean's intentions were.

I guess I was thinking that with Dean in such bad shape, John would have to "bring Sam to Dean". So it was fortuitous, wasn't it, that the students happened to be having that outdoor party? ;-)

Posted by: May Robinson (may7fic)
Posted at: August 23rd, 2007 12:31 am (UTC)
Dad Dean

Thanks for the kind words. I'm glad my treatment of Dean and his injury felt realistic. I'm delighted you enjoyed the whole story. Thanks for reading.

Posted by: Late Night Drops of Random (moondropz)
Posted at: August 22nd, 2007 06:54 pm (UTC)
Ackles glee!

Oh. I just have no words for how awesome this was! I can't wait for the next chapter!!!

Posted by: May Robinson (may7fic)
Posted at: August 23rd, 2007 12:33 am (UTC)
Bros on set

Sending *hugs* back by way of chapter 2 being posted :).
I really hope the rest of the story lives up to your enthusiasm. Thanks a bunch!

Posted by: Late Night Drops of Random (moondropz)
Posted at: August 23rd, 2007 12:46 am (UTC)

Posted by: hucknclem (hucknclem)
Posted at: August 23rd, 2007 04:30 am (UTC)

Hi! I can't begin to tell you how much I adored this fic. I first read it on FF.net, and sent you an e-mail via your website, but don't know if you ever got it. This was just brilliant, and one of the most compelling depictions of John and Dean's relationship I've ever read. Thanks so much for writing it. Would you mind terribly if I friended you, so I can catch your postings? :)

Posted by: May Robinson (may7fic)
Posted at: August 24th, 2007 12:18 am (UTC)
Dad Dean

Thank-you for the lovely feedback and also for letting me know about the email you sent from my website. Yikes, it dawned on me that the email addy you would've used has been inactive since November!! I'll have to try to remedy that this weekend.

I'm really pleased my portrayal of father and son here struck a chord with you and yes, by all means, please feel free to friend me. I'm truly flattered.

Thanks so much again!

Posted by: hucknclem (hucknclem)
Posted at: August 24th, 2007 12:35 am (UTC)

Posted by: May Robinson (may7fic)
Posted at: August 24th, 2007 12:45 am (UTC)

Posted by: hucknclem (hucknclem)
Posted at: August 24th, 2007 12:55 am (UTC)

Posted by: May Robinson (may7fic)
Posted at: September 10th, 2007 02:11 am (UTC)

Posted by: hucknclem (hucknclem)
Posted at: September 10th, 2007 02:16 am (UTC)

Posted by: saberivojo (saberivojo)
Posted at: September 9th, 2007 11:56 pm (UTC)

I am here on rec from Hucnclem and I noticed you commented on Dodger's "Code of the Boys". This is a great job on John. I am such a John girl through and through. There is much to like about this fic. I love that John's reasons for not checking in on Sam are not selfish, he truly is concerned for Dean "...John was going to risk Sammy kicking his brother in the teeth while Dean was already down. Oh, Sam would never consciously target Dean, but Dean would throw himself into the line of fire. Every fucking time." I also love how John's anger at Dean's attitude disloves when he realizes Dean is hurt. Typical parent there, John. The image of John carrying Dean to the car just melts me. Great job.

Posted by: May Robinson (may7fic)
Posted at: September 10th, 2007 02:15 am (UTC)

I so love John too and am delighted you're enjoying my portrayal of him. I refuse to believe his estrangement from Sam was wholly due to pure stubborn selfishness so I tried to portray my theories on his reasoning through this story. I hope the rest of the story and my treatment of his relationship with Dean works for you.

Thanks so much for writing in!

Posted by: Pheebs1 (pheebs1)
Posted at: January 11th, 2008 11:50 pm (UTC)
Dean lounges

I like your John voicve here, very much. And the musing on Dean and his relationship with Sam, and how John perceives that - interesting. Clicky for part 2!

Posted by: May Robinson (may7fic)
Posted at: January 13th, 2008 02:34 am (UTC)
John Boys

Thank-you, I really enjoyed trying to get a handle on John's voice. I'm glad you thought it worked.

I do believe his reasons for keeping away from Sam were many, including stubborn pride. I think by staying away, he was protecting both sons in a way: Dean, from Sam's bitterness and wrath and Sam from exposure to their abnormal life, just as Sam thought he wanted.

Posted by: seerargent (seerargent)
Posted at: May 4th, 2008 02:08 am (UTC)

John pov – yay! I’m happy before I even start reading. Great use of the military terms both within the chapter titles and more subtly within the story as a whole.

Highlights? There were so many:

John and his one-way ticket. Oh, John. Hmm think I may end up wanting to say that a lot, so take it as given that it is appended to everything from here down.

Love how John hates Jim’s truth. And the way you relate Dean’s extreme reaction to Sam’s absence to his silence after his mother’s death. Everyone he loves does keep leaving one way or another.

Your portrayal of John and Dean’s teamwork – a precursor to the brother’s in later years.

The ghost dragging an unconscious Dean like a toy – that image is going to haunt me for a long time.

John scaring people in the hospital lift. Heh!

The danger of partial amnesia in hospital when you might ruin your cover identity. I don’t think anyone has taken this very real threat and threaded it into a story as coherently as you’ve done here. John’s worry for his son as counterpoint to his attempts to manage the situation and get them out of there to somewhere he can be (and emotionally needs to be) in total control.

John’s thoughts of Sam’s reaction to the situation if he’d been with them. Sam’s absence is very much felt.

Dean automatically thinking he fucked up. And Dean stopping mentioning Sam. Insert two Oh, Dean’s just to be different here.

Dean in pain, and still very much Dean enough to mock John, think of flowers for the nurses, and still reveal that inner sweetness he usually hides under that cocky macho exterior to the Sister. John’s surprise. The scene about Dean not screwing married women.

This event is very much a learning experience for John. I appreciate the fact that you took the time to let the entire hospital stay play out in real time as it were. The Winchesters spend so much time being hurt and damaged that we need more stories that focus on the multiple outcomes that result. Every wound has both an immediate physical and emotional effect and more lingering echoes on their souls.

Each of them trying to take the blame for things. Aw. ::Hugs all the Winchesters::

Dean using his father’s phone when Sam doesn’t answer his calls, desperately hoping that subterfuge will make a difference ::sniffles::

Both of them using different people to check on Sam for them.

Dean needing to see Sam now, but not wanting to be seen when he is in pain and can’t control the situation. All three of them are so different in their reactions, and so alike in their love and need for each other.

Your John is hard, and tough, and so much the loving father through all of it. Wonderful characterization, the internal dialogue is lovely.

Posted by: May Robinson (may7fic)
Posted at: May 4th, 2008 09:17 pm (UTC)

Wow, I was already in a good mood today but this review has tipped the scales over into giddy-land. Thank-you seems so completely inadequate!

I'm so pleased you enjoyed this portrayal of John, particularly making mention of his inner dialogue. As JDM said himself in the S2 Companion, John has so much going on inside - in his head - that it felt only right to tell this story from his POV.

I'm also so very pleased you enjoyed my use of Dean's temporary/partial amnesia. It felt a little clunky to me, that he'd know his birthdate and not his last-name but I felt I had to roll with that so I'm glad it worked for you. I would so love an ep where Dean was put in that situation, where a life of using aliases caught up with him like this. Jensen would simply rock playing scared and confused. Sigh. Alas, I highly doubt we're going to see that explored... too many bigger fish to fry ;).

You highlighted a few of my own personal favorite story bits - the ghost dragging Dean being one of them *g*. That's another one of those scenes I'd love to see on the show. But, honestly... as much as Sam is protective of Dean and would be scared/pissed/outraged, it's John's reaction I'd prefer to see there. Hence why I wrote it ;).

Thank-you for such thoughtful, detailed feedback. I'm touched by it and feeling ridiculously squeeful! :D.

Posted by: seerargent (seerargent)
Posted at: May 4th, 2008 09:34 pm (UTC)

Posted by: May Robinson (may7fic)
Posted at: May 5th, 2008 03:32 am (UTC)

Posted by: saralikeme (saralikeme)
Posted at: June 19th, 2008 02:20 am (UTC)
Late to the party

Hi. You commented on one of my fics over on ff.net a few weeks ago, and life has been life, so I haven't replied to anyone. I really appreciated your feedback, and I thought I recognized your name. Turns out I had read your stories a while ago, but I hadn't commented. I'm ridiculously shy (yes, even on the internet), but I'm trying to change that. So, now that I've rambled endlessly...

I loved this story! The interactions between John and Dean seem very true to what we've seen on the show. I like how you let us into John's head as to why he doesn't want to visit Sam (to protect Dean from more pain), but all Dean gets is a flat out "No" with no explanation. I also love Dean's little rebellions, like holding back the salt, and how they both drop the fighting when the ghost shows up.

I'll try to comment on the other chapters and stories you have here. I'm in the middle of writing my dissertation, so it may take me a while to get to all of them. :) I am too easily distracted by fanfiction when I have writer's block in my papers.

Thanks again for your kind words. They meant a lot to me. (and sorry for the extra long comments half about me)

Posted by: May Robinson (may7fic)
Posted at: June 21st, 2008 03:21 am (UTC)
Re: Late to the party
Family Again

Thank-you so very much for commenting. I'm especially touched since you don't do it very often.

Thanks for providing the detailed feedback I love to see... finding out what worked best for you, as a reader, is a true treat.

Best of luck with your dissertation and thanks again for taking time away from it to read my story and comment :).

Posted by: leelust (leelust)
Posted at: December 1st, 2008 05:56 pm (UTC)

Just tell me you'll be posting every day?

Posted by: May Robinson (may7fic)
Posted at: December 1st, 2008 06:16 pm (UTC)
Dean hurting (closeup)

Hon, all 9 chapters are up. There's a link to chapter 2 right at the very bottom of chapter 1 or you can click the following link to get you there:


I'm so glad this is new for you and really hope you enjoy it :)

Posted by: leelust (leelust)
Posted at: December 2nd, 2008 10:48 am (UTC)

Posted by: May Robinson (may7fic)
Posted at: December 3rd, 2008 02:55 am (UTC)

Posted by: leelust (leelust)
Posted at: December 3rd, 2008 10:10 am (UTC)

Posted by: May Robinson (may7fic)
Posted at: December 1st, 2008 06:40 pm (UTC)

Posted by: leelust (leelust)
Posted at: December 2nd, 2008 10:49 am (UTC)

Posted by: May Robinson (may7fic)
Posted at: December 3rd, 2008 02:52 am (UTC)

Posted by: leelust (leelust)
Posted at: December 3rd, 2008 10:09 am (UTC)

Posted by: limpflig (quirkies)
Posted at: December 2nd, 2008 07:09 am (UTC)

i'm so glad you reposted this so i got a chance to read it! (yes, it's all about me).
i love your john-voice! it feels so similar to dean's, but older and maybe more beat-down, or more driven, i'm not sure. he's such a dad too!
i'm looking forward to reading the rest!

Posted by: May Robinson (may7fic)
Posted at: December 3rd, 2008 02:59 am (UTC)
Dean Leather

What a treat for me to have someone new read this story *g* I'm so pleased you're enjoying my John-voice so far. I do hope the rest of the story doesn't disappoint.

One quick note...
You'll enjoy the later chapters more if you make sure to read all my author's notes... I think ;)

P.S. couldn't resist using this icon... clearly we have the same tastes ;)

Edited at 2008-12-03 03:00 am (UTC)

Posted by: limpflig (quirkies)
Posted at: December 3rd, 2008 03:59 am (UTC)

Posted by: May Robinson (may7fic)
Posted at: December 3rd, 2008 04:01 am (UTC)
Re: :D

Posted by: ℳ. (maypoles)
Posted at: March 15th, 2011 10:42 pm (UTC)
i love your long shadows

Hey, just letting you know that this (as well as your fic, Family, Faith & Certitide) have been recced here at hoodie_time. ;)

Posted by: May Robinson (may7fic)
Posted at: March 16th, 2011 03:06 am (UTC)

Thank-you for letting me know. That's very flattering news :)