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May Robinson [userpic]

Fic Update: Armistice (ch 8 of 9)

August 26th, 2007 (03:30 pm)
chipper

how i am: chipper
accompanied by: Fleetwood Mac, Gold Dust Woman

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 8 of 9.
Rating: T (PG-13), language.
Pairing: None, Gen, Dean and John Winchester
Spoilers: None.
Notes: Thanks to Penny, Heather and Jennie for helping to make this a better fic.  
Disclaimers: See my profile page.

Armistice
by May Robinson

Chapter 8 - Reconnaissance

Before heading for California with Dean, John had sacked out at the hospital for a while, had breakfast with his kid and then left Dean to rest while he did some running around. He'd gone back to the motel, showered and changed again and then packed up their things along with the pillow Dean was presently using. Upon checking out, topping up the gas tank and their supply of both Tylenol and bottled water, John had taken care of a few other errands as well. Namely, calling Jim with an update, or rather tearing a strip off his voicemail, and then finding a library with internet so he could figure out where best to find Sam. His sons were right. . . it really was time to pick up a laptop.

In the past six months, both Jefferson and Caleb had been on hunts south of Frisco and, unknown to Dean - which was something else to add to the list of John's regrets - they'd checked up on Sam. In fact, Jefferson, who hated winter with as much vengeance as he had for shape-shifters, had been hunting near San Jose just a few weeks before and had scouted out Sam then. So, provided John's youngest hadn't moved from his student residence, John already had a head start on both recon and intel.

Finding Sammy anywhere but at his residence just wasn't feasible though, at least not today. The campus was huge, as was the building housing Sam's last class of the day, and John didn't want to leave Dean alone in the car while his dad tried to find his brother. Not to mention the fact that the building had at least three sets of doors that he'd consider likely candidates for Sam to exit out of and one man sure as hell couldn't cover them all.

With very little time to kill, curiosity still got the better of him though and John found himself driving along Campus Drive East, checking out the grounds and the buildings he'd seen this morning only as photographs on Stanford's website. Sam's new home. Hell, his new world. The place was impressive in every way that counted. . . the perfect environment for a bright kid like Sam.

Groups of students walked the grounds, crisscrossing the path before him and John couldn't help but marvel at their youthful enthusiasm. The atmosphere was buzzing with positive energy, pretty typical no doubt of the last day of classes before spring break at any given school. He was feeling damn old as he watched these kids almost literally frolic and, as he reached down beside him and settled a hand atop his sleeping son's shoulder, he was struck with familiar pangs of shame and regret. Both of his boys deserved this life if they wanted it and he genuinely felt guilty as hell that he'd sunk so low as to try to make Sam feel ashamed for desiring it.

There was no denying he regretted that last fight with Sam, had regretted his words and that fateful ultimatum almost the very moment they'd been spewed from his lips. He knew Jim, Bobby and, worst of all, even Dean blamed stubborn Winchester pride on his unwillingness to hunt down Sammy and take the words back. John was willing to admit that, in part, they weren't wrong but in reality the pride in question wasn't all John's. Sam had been equally ruthless in his own offensive and John was still pissed with him for it. Couldn't help feeling that way. Belittling the work that John did - the work that his big brother risked his neck doing every damn day - had been every bit as nasty and unreasonable and just plain wrong as had been John's ridicule of Sam's goals and dreams. The Winchesters were saving lives, for God's sake and John adamantly, obstinately refused to apologize for that. Refused to feel like some sub-human species of mankind because of his choices.

Bitter much, John?

And there it was. . . the crux of the situation. Six months after their blow-up and John could still get fired up about it. Mad as hell. And, despite what some people might think about his temperament, John knew that age and life experience had actually mellowed him somewhat when it came to holding grudges. With one noteworthy, hell-spawned exception. And, if he was still touchy, his youngest son was guaranteed to still be as volatile as TNT.

In so knowing, John also realized that it would have to fall on his shoulders to extend the olive branch to Sam. Hell, he loved his son, missed him terribly, so after over six months of time and distance, he could honestly say that he was willing to swallow his pride and do it. Of course he was.

Only, despite the fact that he was presently casing Sam's neighborhood and haunts like a stalker preparing a B&E, he knew deep down through to his marrow that it was still too soon for a reunion. After all, when it came to gauging Sammy's state of mind, John had an ace up his sleeve.

He had Dean.

Dean was his Sammy barometer and, if Sam was still rejecting any contact with the brother he'd worshipped most his life, the brother whose only crime had been refusing to be bullied into taking sides between two inflexible, irrational idiots, John knew fucking well an attempted reconciliation with Sam right now would end in failure and disaster.

Especially now, damn it. One look at the shape Dean was in and Sam was going to blow a gasket. Christ, Dean had to know this and yet here they were anyway. Which was proof positive of just how royally John had fucked up by denying Dean the right to see his brother days ago, when he was still in one piece and had his head on straight.

So John had put himself smack dab in the middle of the proverbial rock and a hard place. . . Show up on Sammy's doorstep with a badly injured and vulnerable Dean and validate everything Sam had always hated about the hunt and their lives. Risk irreparable damage and further estrangement from his youngest or, pull a U-turn right now, while Dean was unaware and still sleeping, and hightail it out of the state with his tail between his legs. Betray the son who never asked anything of his father until now, who nearly died desiring the one thing John was once again considering denying him and who was willing to endure the emotional and physical pain he'd been suffering all day in order to get it.

John Winchester might be a miserable prick much of the time - hell, the lineup of both friend and foe willing to agree formed at the left - but he would not be one today. Today he wouldn't say no to Dean and he could only hope like hell, pray to Mary and, most importantly, have faith in Dean that neither the day nor the Winchesters would end in total ruin.

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Taking note of the street names as he passed them, John found his bearings and worked his way toward Branner Hall, Sammy's impressive, recently renovated residence. John had been glad to discover the residence housed only freshmen, his fears for Sam's safety extending beyond the supernatural and into the domain of humanity and all its frailties and temptations. Just as Dean had stated in the hospital, he knew Sam would make friends easily and, whether he was being logical or not, John just preferred the idea of Sam hanging around kids his age and younger, rather than the alternative. Those that hopefully shared first year jitters and the innocence that came with them. Way to fantasize, Captain Naiveté.

Great, head's getting awfully crowded with Dean in there too.

Maybe it was because they were in California, or maybe it was because Stanford was the west coast equivalent to "Ivy League", but the Impala wasn't making much of an impression cruising down the roadway, both in appearance or in noise level. Its throaty rumble and complementary classic rock were easily drowned out by the so-called music blasting on the grounds and from the speakers of BMWs, Infinitis, and Acuras, the general party atmosphere definitely overshadowing any pretense of higher education this sunny afternoon.

The carnival-like din was carrying through to the university residences also, with Sam's being no exception. As John rounded the bend toward the back of the large building and the equally impressive Stanford U. Arboretum across from it, he discovered, with a mixture of delight and trepidation, that he and Dean were in luck. . . it looked like the unseasonably warmer weather had inspired a spur-of-the-moment party on the property and already some of the students were swarming likes bees to honey.

Spotting Sam wasn't difficult - it wasn't as though his kid had shrunk in these months - though John was a little surprised to see the boy this soon. It was barely after three o'clock and, given Dean's insistence that Sam wouldn't skip out on any classes, John had figured he'd have some time to scout out the best vantage point for staking out the place. He supposed class might have let out early. The idea seemed reasonable, though frankly, what did John really know about university life? Aside from brief but necessary sojourns to meet with their experts on folklore and the like during the occasional hunt, all of John's post-secondary classroom experience had been in the hands of Uncle Sam.

John truly hadn't expected to have such a physical reaction to seeing his youngest. After all, Jefferson had told him that Sam had looked damn good when he'd swung through Palo Alto last time. But, even from a distance, John could see how true Jeff's assessment had been and goddamn if John didn't think his heart was going to explode from witnessing it in person. Relief, joy, and pride filled him, along with an unsavory but impossible to deny hint of anger and hurt. John pushed the latter aside, felt his chest constrict, his breath hitch and his eyes prickle with emotion at the very much welcome sight of his wayward boy. Safe and sound.

Feeling oddly shell-shocked, John hadn't realized he'd removed his foot from the gas until the sharp bleat coming from the horn of a Carrera following close behind startled the crap out of him. "Shit," he swore, suddenly realizing they'd nearly coasted up the road's slight incline to a complete stop in Sam's line of sight should he happen to look this way. Careful not to floor it and draw unwanted attention, not to mention keep Dean from doing a face-plant into the dash, John gingerly accelerated, thankful that if heads did turn, the bright yellow Porsche would stand out significantly more than the Impala's black against the backlit strip of oaks lining the perimeter of the arboretum to his left.

"What the--?" Dean awoke with a start, surprising John, despite the noise of the 911's horn and John's cursing, along with their sudden, quickened pace. After all, only a couple of hours ago, Dean's unresponsiveness had aged his father ten years.

"Stay down," John commanded, harsher perhaps than necessary but then he was trying to prevent Dean from bashing his head on the underside of the steering wheel. Not to mention being otherwise occupied turning onto the narrow laneway that bordered the park with one hand presently applying pressure to Dean's shoulder to make his point. "Wait until I park the damn car."

"He's insulting you again, baby," Dean groused, or rather groaned, but John noted with a certain satisfaction that Dean hadn't moved a muscle since told to stay put. "I take it," Dean continued, "from your oh-so sunny disposition, that we made it to Stanford?" Correction, one muscle was working overtime. Kid always was a little cranky when he woke up sick or over-tired.

John's hackles rose at the snark but before succumbing to any anger, he realized that Dean had no reason to think being here would make his dad anything other than pissy. Hell, despite how good John felt in getting that glimpse of Sam, his clipped words did have a lot to do with seeing Sam too, just not quite in the way Dean was dreading. John was anxious and uptight because he had a sick kid on his hands who had no business being out of the hospital. And the one person who'd have no qualms about tearing him a new one over it, who never cowered from stepping into the role of John's conscience because he was determined his father didn't have one, was just across the street.

His only response though was a grunt as he pulled into the parallel parking spot beneath one of Stanford's many oaks, the Impala's inky black lost in its shadows. A trash can and park bench providing further camouflage from onlookers but not obstructing John's view of the partygoers opposite them in the slightest. "There," he sighed as he shifted into park, turned off Janis's Piece of My Heart but didn't cut the engine, not intending to until he had some sort of handle on the situation. "We're here," he said, uncovering the blanket from Dean's torso, then slipping his hand beneath the shoulder Dean was lying on in order to grip his upper arm.

"Where exactly is here?" Dean asked, mild confusion evident, no doubt thanks to his newly wakeful state as much as the concussion. That his position in the car more than likely provided him with only a glimpse of oak leaves and sky didn't help matters either.

Despite his query, Dean didn't resist while his father basically manhandled him, John angling slightly in toward the car's center so that he could get his other arm around his son as he slid and shifted him onto his back. Typically words weren't required for Dean to understand what his dad was doing, in this case readying his hold to support Dean in a joint effort to get him upright in the seat.

The second John replied with, "Sam's. He's already here," though, Dean stiffened in his father's grasp and suddenly John found himself pushing down against Dean as he tried to sit up too quickly. John easily out-muscled Dean which, as evidenced by his colorful protests, clearly pissed him off but the effort ended up with both of them cursing as the agony John had fervently hoped to prevent made its grand entrance anyway. Dean's sharp gasp followed by a collapse into compliance inspired curt words from his father. "For Christ's sake, are you trying to kill yourself?"

Dean was once again in the too familiar position of hands cupped over his eyes and brow and when he uttered a mournful, "I just want to see my brother," John's anger deflated. Not surprisingly, especially this close to their goal, his son's emotions were yo-yoing again and John wasn't real happy with the fact that his own were piggybacking along. Someone had to stay rational here. Preferably the one without a concussion.

"I know," he said. "Just try to use your head for something other than a bulls-eye for once, all right?" Dean scoffed at the rebuke but John knew his kid got the message, even tempered as it was by John allowing his grip to change, giving way to an affectionate squeeze of Dean's arms. "C'mon, he's right across the street, let's get you upright."

The promise of finally seeing his brother definitely perked him up and Dean dropped his hand from his brow and grasped onto John's arm, planting the other palm-down on the seat to help gain a little leverage. When he was ready, Dean declared, "All set," gritting the words as he braced his boots against the car door and his shoulders against John.

John issued another three-count and on three, his grip became a bear hug used to draw Dean up against him, not stopping until his son's back was resting against his chest and raised high enough so that his head could be supported by John's neck and beneath his chin if necessary.

If proved to be when almost immediately, vertigo and pain wreaking havoc and John wasn't sure what shredded his insides more: the cry Dean tried too damn hard to stifle or the convulsive swallowing that John could feel where the shaky kid was pressed against his neck.

This is insane, he's not up for this; he should be back in the hospital. Dean would call John's thoughts traitorous but they were bombarding his father's mind like enemy fire. He held on, his cheek brushing the top of Dean's head, then resting there. Wanting nothing more than to rail against yet another injustice inflicted upon his eldest son, at the same time he wanted to shake Dean and bring him to his senses. Yell at him for pushing himself like this, asking too much of himself.

The irony didn't escape John; he'd been accused of too high expectations when it came to his boys - especially Dean - before. Jim, Bobby, school teachers, hell, Sammy had all had a go at John at one time or another. None could berate like he could himself though. Like he'd be doing this minute if he allowed time to wallow. But that wouldn't help Dean right now so he had to shrug the guilt off. Again.

Not until he felt Dean's trembling and hitching breaths ease, John spoke again. "You still with me?"

"Yeah," Dean answered, raspy, then, "Yeah" again, with more conviction, as though he needed to convince himself.

"Good," John returned and then straightening up somewhat, he used his shoulder and chin to nudge Dean's head away from him as he said, "Then take a look."

Huddled together as they were, Dean's eyes were mere inches from John's, so he was well aware of the view that would greet Dean once he mustered the courage to open his eyes. John knew he was scared, felt Dean's anxiety the moment he'd tensed at John's coaxing words. Knew it too because he'd been feeling the same way since the moment he'd crossed the state line -- fear that Sam would look unwell, hurt or unhappy and mostly, albeit selfishly, fear that Sam would no longer be their Sam.

"Sammy." Whispered like a prayer, John felt a sparkle of tears spring to his eyes as the long suppressed emotions behind that one word bubbled out of Dean.

"Yeah," John breathed, acknowledging Dean's wonder. Sharing in it. Aside from what appeared to be an exchange from blue jeans to something trendier, Sam looked just like Sam. Same unkempt, too long hair, same t-shirt layered beneath cotton over-shirt, and still looking especially tall and gangly. Though deceptive to the casual eye, John hoped Dean's vision was cooperating well enough so that he'd be able to spot the contours that filled out Sam's tee, the muscles stretching the shirt across his chest and his broad back and shoulders. Proof that Sam was looking after himself.

"He's keeping in shape," Dean murmured, as though reading John's mind. Despite the exhaustion and pain radiating from Dean, there was still more than a hint of approval and even pride in his words.

"Looks like," John replied, resisting the irritation that wanted to let itself be known. The unreasonable little voice in his head - his own, this time - wondering why in hell Sam was staying so damn fit if he had no intention of ever hunting again? Way to be rational, Winchester.

Okay, so that voice was definitely Dean again.

"Still hasn't figured out what a hair brush is," Dean cracked, eliciting a chuckle from his dad and John couldn't help but marvel at how in tune the kid was to his father's moods. Had he sensed John slipping into negativity? Of course he had. Knew just what to say to defuse it. Looked like the kid deserved a merit badge for the art of deflection too.

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, both simply taking in the vision of Sam interacting with his friends. Happy. He looked happy. Normal. As though nothing evil lurked in the darkness. Nor ever had. John couldn't remember the last time his youngest had laughed and smiled like that, literally throwing his head back in carefree laughter. It warmed John's heart. . . and it hurt like hell and John didn't want to imagine the inner turmoil his emotionally overwrought oldest boy was suffering.

The arrival of a statuesque, stunning blonde onto the scene stole John's attention though as it did Dean's, whose whistling skills clearly hadn't been hindered by injury, though he kept it low, for their ears only. His father's reaction was simply, "Wow."

John had to admit, despite Jefferson's reports, he was a little surprised when this gorgeous epitome of a California girl made a beeline directly toward his son, only to be enveloped in his powerful arms and swept into a very intimate kiss. At Dean's, "Way to go, geek-boy," John looked away, uncomfortable, wondering what in hell happened to the awkward, inexperienced kid who'd blushed crimson at each re-telling of big brother Dean's conquests? Then again, John knew first-hand what a confidence builder and ego boost it was to have a beautiful woman on your arm. So this must be--

"Jessica." It was Dean's voice that finished John's thought and John immediately bristled at the subterfuge that clearly must have been going on under his oblivious nose.

"And just how do you know that?"

"Caleb," Dean answered, rebellion resonating in his tone. "You?" Accusation and rebuke this time.

"Jefferson." Returned with enough warning so that John hoped Dean would let it go. Clearly they'd both been keeping secrets from each other. Recruiting their own spies. In some twisted, warped Winchester way, it was actually kind of comical.

After a slight pause, "Huh," was Dean's only response until a slight puff of laughter escaped his lips. It really was scary sometimes how similar their thought processes were. "You could've told me, you know." Dean's words were spoken softly, as though he didn't want to ruin the harmony they'd just achieved. But, at the same time, John could tell his son wanted him to know the hurt he felt.

Justification was never his forte but for Dean's sake, he explained. "I figured whatever Jim was telling you was enough." He kept the and didn't want to talk about it to himself. "Does it really make any difference?"

"Yeah it does, Dad. It really does."

The catch in Dean's voice drew John's concern and he shifted slightly to meet Dean's eyes. What he saw there was a mixture of approval and relief, the latter striking John hardest. With it, the realization that Dean had truly feared his father had stopped caring for Sam. John couldn't attribute the concussion to this. No, this wound had been festering for months and John had only his stubborn, indifferent, intolerant behavior to blame. It was no wonder Dean had kept Caleb's missions to himself. Nodding in understanding, all he could offer was a soft, "Okay."

It was enough though, apparently, as the intensity in Dean's gaze softened and his mouth quirked into a small smile as he said, "Okay back." They'd reached a truce once again.

With John, actions always did speak louder than words so, in an effort to further alleviate Dean's worry and remind him that his father wasn't always a stone cold bastard, he decided it was high time they made their move. Even if a lump the size of Texas was settling in his guts. "All right then." Lightly patting Dean's cheek, he then carefully shifted out from behind him so that the seat-back was supporting more of Dean than he was. Already reaching for the door handle, he asked, "You think you can manage vertical on your own while I go get your brother?"

"What? No. Dad, no!" Not at all the reaction John had expected, he wasn't sure if Dean's panicky words or his lunge to grab hold of the door handle and prevent it from opening shocked him more.

"Jesus, Dean. The hell?" Despite the hold he'd had on his son, Dean was now slung across John, wedged between his father and the steering wheel and shuddering in John's grasp. Dean's breathing was ragged, he was hurting again, but John still had to steel himself against shaking the shit out of him. He settled for gripping a bicep a little too hard before admonishing, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

His forehead pressed into John's shoulder, Dean was still struggling to get his breathing under control and John automatically shifted from pissed off commander to anxious parent. Carding his fingers through now sweat-slicked hair, the soft, steady cadence of "Easy does it, easy" seemed to help settle Dean down and, once his breathing calmed, John maneuvered the lax body so that he could see Dean's face again.

His handsome features etched with pain, glistening eyes squinted against the hurt, leaking tracks of moisture down his too pale face and John shook his head in frustration and disappointment. "What in hell were you thinking?"

Upon meeting John's eyes, Dean dropped his gaze and John realized too late that the disappointment Dean read there was more than his ailing son could handle. "C'mon, bud. What's going on in that concussed head of yours?" Gentling his tone, he resorted to a juvenile jab beneath Dean's lower rib to hopefully get him to come around. "Spill it, dude."

His efforts had the desired affect and Dean lifted his gaze to meet his dad's again. He still looked like shit and for the umpteenth time this afternoon, John regretted having anything to do with Dean's discharge from St. Mary's. But, now that he was firmly committed to the act, was Dean having second thoughts?

"Dad, you can't go out there."

"Okay, listen. I'm not going anywhere," he placated. Christ, Dean sounded almost frantic and though John could fill his journal with all the reasons he believed a meeting with Sam would be a huge mistake right now, confusion spurred him to question Dean's motives. "Why, son? Why don't you want me to go? What's changed?"

"Nothing's changed!" Dean answered sharply then sighed heavily before continuing. "He can't see me like this. You know that." Dean was avoiding John's eyes again, though before looking away, John could have sworn he saw a flash of guilt. "He'll freak," he added with emphasis and - this time John was certain - definitely with guilt. And John abruptly figured out why.

"Jesus, Dean. Is your brain that rattled?" God, John was furious. Refused even to acknowledge Dean's flinch. "For fuck's sake, I can not believe you'd play me like this." John was on a roll and couldn't shut up if someone paid him to. Badly hurt, sick, and exhausted, Dean had known all along what he was doing. . . had conned his father and his doctor into what was clearly a too early release from the hospital. Just so he could drive to the coast and covertly watch his brother from across the fucking street. "Just what in the hell is wrong with you? Are you really that desperate?"

John couldn't ignore Dean's flinch this time, the kid had recoiled as if he'd been struck. So much so that John backed off as well. Dean didn't look away from John though, met his father's frustrated, pissed off scowl with a look that was so gut-wrenching, John felt like crawling beneath the dash. Playing across his son's face was a mixture of defiance and deep, deep hurt, and John wanted nothing more than to take back those last accusing words that had callously called Dean on the desperation so clearly reflected in those expressive eyes. Words that had dared judge a big brother for needing to see the boy he'd spent his own lifetime raising. John Winchester, you are an unforgivable ass.

Mary. That was Mary.

And she was right.

"Aw, Dean."

"Don't." Dean cut him off sharply, shaking his head and cringing as he did so. "I don't want your pity." Facing John again, he added, "I just needed to see him. See for myself he's okay."

"Okay, I get it," John exhaled wearily, his expression softening, saddened by the doubt reflected in Dean's eyes and by this whole god-awful situation. "I do." More than Dean could know. Wrapping his arms around his son once again, Dean resisted at first before giving in. No doubt he'd found John's wavelength again and John was relieved his kid was riding the wave. The pretense might well have been that he was simply repositioning Dean to get another decent look at Sam but the reality was that John just wanted to comfort his son. He wanted to fix this for Dean, for both his sons, but knew that today it just wasn't possible. All he could do was hold on to this son and try to give him some hope. Softly he asked, "You sure it's gonna be enough?"

"It'll have to be, won't it?"

"Yeah, I'm afraid so. . . this time, kiddo." John answered with a hint of encouragement and hope for the future. Anything to counter the resignation in Dean's voice.

He decided then and there that today's trip was only the first of future forays into California. There'd no doubt be more ghosts and mysteries to keep them occupied and, on each hunt, they could swing by and check on Sam. And John resolved just as determinedly that his sons' estrangement would only be a temporary thing. When the time was right and an opportunity presented itself, he'd see his two boys reunited someday.

Whatever it took, he'd make it happen.


To be concluded in Chapter 9.

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Additional notes: Sam's residence, its renovation, the street names, the oak trees, and arboretum all do exist at Stanford. However their layout is purely wishful thinking on my part based on student housing surrounding a lovely park in the university town in which I live.


Go to concluding Chapter 9

Back to Ch 1   Ch 2   Ch 3   Ch 4   Ch 5   Ch 6   Ch 7    

This fic is being cross-posted to 

supernaturalfic and hurt_dean.

 

Comments

Posted by: Late Night Drops of Random (moondropz)
Posted at: August 26th, 2007 08:07 pm (UTC)

You really have a way with the Winchester's characterizations! I just automatically believe ;-P It's also breaking my heart-ohhh Dean! But Papa Winchester-I just love how you've written him ;-P
*Hugs*

Posted by: May Robinson (may7fic)
Posted at: August 26th, 2007 08:26 pm (UTC)
Dad Dean

I'm really pleased you've enjoyed my portrayal of John. That you "believe" makes me feel like I've accomplished my mission. Hopefully chapter 9 (just posted) will be equally satisfying.

Whew, all this chapter posting has been exhausting and I still have to post this to the 2 lj comms. I think I'm going to take a break from my computer for a bit though before doing so but I'll be back on in a while. Thanks for spending the afternoon with me and my story :)

Posted by: Late Night Drops of Random (moondropz)
Posted at: August 26th, 2007 08:31 pm (UTC)

I knew after reading the one story that you'd do John right. He's rough and gruff-but his heart is always in the right place. And most stories I've read don't get him right. Reading your portrayal of him here-seems right to me. And I think Dean as well-which for me makes this story a joy to follow. It's very smooth and I love it!
*Hugs*

Posted by: May Robinson (may7fic)
Posted at: August 26th, 2007 08:51 pm (UTC)
Armistice

Aww, thanks so much for that kind praise. I'm glad you think I've captured John's range. He's no more an ogre than a teddybear to me but rather a complicated, deeply feeling man who has faced (and does face) the worst of horrors and is trying to deal with that and be a father all at once. And I just love Dean who may well be even more complicated than his father.

Thanks again!

Posted by: Late Night Drops of Random (moondropz)
Posted at: August 26th, 2007 08:57 pm (UTC)
Adorkable Jensen bunny ears

I think many people are put off by the man's gruff manner-but if you think of all that he's been through? It's a defense mechanism-and a very effective one at that! But he's doing the best he can to raise his family and keep them safe in the process. Well done on capturing the man's essence ;-P
I am a Dean/freak ;-P You'll find that out soon enough I suppose! The guy is uber complicated-and yet simplistic! And hot? yes, very hot-lol! But I truly enjoyed this story!
*Hugs*

Posted by: May Robinson (may7fic)
Posted at: August 26th, 2007 10:34 pm (UTC)
John-boys

Sometimes I feel like I'm watching a different John than others talk about... because the John *I* saw on the series was damn near "emo John" (g)! We saw him close to tears in practically every episode we ever saw him in: Shadow, DMB, Salvation, DT, SW, IMToD (of course) and, IIRC, I think he was even pretty emotional in Scarecrow, as he expressed his sympathies to Sam about Jess. We also saw the other extreme, which I of course won't deny. I think John feels *extremely* deeply and those emotions run the gamut. He's the personification of passionate: hates and fights hard but he loves fiercely as well. I find him fascinating and frankly, since I love Dean so damn much and believe in him, I have full faith that John deserved Dean's adoration.

And gawwwd, don't get me started on Dean (or Jensen), LOL. I don't know if I've ever been so utterly taken in by a character (or actor) than I have been by him. He got me writing again - no doubt about it - so that says something right there (g).

Posted by: Late Night Drops of Random (moondropz)
Posted at: August 26th, 2007 11:02 pm (UTC)
Deans pucker

LOL, I know that feeling! I was not thrilled with him when he didn't go to dean while in the hospital-but I think it was the same deal-he checked on him but didn't actually go to him. Same as in Home. John isa great charater-and I hope they delve into his charater some in season three-give more insight to who he was. He does deserve Dean's love and adoration-I agree!
Ohhh dean/Jensen. LOL. You'll see alot of me in your flist from now on-lol. I spam Jensen alot-and do weekly spams/themes in the comms. Plus I do b-day spams and whatnot. I love this man-so gorgeous and talented! He really puts his all into Dean-and I love him for it! He's the reason I do the spams-well that and I couldn't write myself out of a paper bag-lol! I'll leave that to you ;-P
*Hugs*

Posted by: May Robinson (may7fic)
Posted at: August 26th, 2007 11:33 pm (UTC)
John-boys

There are certainly a lot of things I'd take John to task over in terms of his parenting but I believe his intentions were fairly noble most of the time. I truly believe he would have followed the boys to Nebraska after the electrocution or, at the least, had given Joshua the info about Rev. LeGrange. Sure, this could be wishful thinking on my part but I'm confident that what we've seen in canon backs up this theory. I wouldn't have written "All Told" as I did without feeling this way. Same with "Armistice", I could so see John being willing to make the first move (after all, he showed us this to an extent in Scarecrow, Shadow, DMB, and somewhat in IMToD). I love his complexity.

I'm looking forward to reaping the benefits of being friended (g). Jensen/Dean are so worth the attention. Hell, he was worth me flying from Toronto to Texas to watch his play... I'll be thrilled to see the spams!

Posted by: Late Night Drops of Random (moondropz)
Posted at: August 26th, 2007 11:55 pm (UTC)
Contemplative Dean

Also? The actor has made us very passionate about whether we love or hate John-that's saying alot! But I agree with you-I think he did check-up on the boys-and anytime one was hurt/injured. He's a father-he couldn't ignore his children like that. But I think he did it covertly as we said. I love the character too!
Oh-lol, the tag Jensen Ackles will take care of that right away for you-lol! I have been spamming the man since mid-December of 2006 ;-P And happily I might add! *G* I have tons of caps-and enjoy showing them off ;-)
*Hugs*

Posted by: limpflig (quirkies)
Posted at: December 13th, 2008 08:20 am (UTC)
dean

having mary's voice join the others in john's head was brilliant. i definitely believe john felt connected to her all those years later. both dean and john's relief at seeing sam whole and happy were gorgeously written. and dean's subterfuge was perfect. he knows his dad too well. fantastic job writing the link between those two.

Posted by: May Robinson (may7fic)
Posted at: December 14th, 2008 05:12 pm (UTC)
Dean WiaWSNB Tear

I'm thrilled that the moment when Mary's voice is revealed along with the others was a powerful one for you. Thank you for letting me know how much this chapter moved you. It was meant to and, of course, I'm always relieved to know if I've hit the intended spot ;)