Father of One

Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to The CW not moi :)

A/N: This ones been waiting for a publish for ages - however it was my best friend's birthday present so she had to have it before you lot :P But now she has it and is fortunately very happy and excited with it - lucky success there :)

So now you guys can have a read too...

Hope you enjoy x

Many epiphanies occur in flash seconds, a sudden enlightening to a situation or pondering idea; others may take a little longer – an hour, day, week, but it will appear sooner rather than later, often in time for the receiver to re-shape the event to suit their needs.

However, there are those rare cases where it won't register – thought after inkling after hint will drive into the person's path yet the brain simply refuses to allow the truth.

And this always makes it all the more worse when the inevitable happens.

So was the case of John Winchester.

Six year old Dean held his little brother's chubby hands as the 14 month baby shook on his legs, his curious eyes gazing down at the sudden height he had accumulated with an awed expression on his face.

"Yeah Sammy, those are your feet," The young boy rolled his eyes, the kid was always too easily pleased; took half an hour to get him in the car once because he spotted a newly sprung daffodil.

He shuffled a bit further away on his knees while still keeping hold of the toddler's hands and blew a sharp spurt of air between his teeth which produced a noise that instinctively snapped Sam's doe-eyes to the elder boy – the kid always responded to his siblings whistle; it was like owning a puppy.

"You can't just stand there, come on, you want to impress me then I need to see some movement," Dean prompted, gently releasing his brother's grip so he was supporting his own weight but keeping his arms held wide in preparation to catch the boy if he fell.

Dean wasn't sure at what age children were supposed to learn to walk, his dad had never told him and he'd never seen the man giving Sammy a lesson; maybe it was because babies weren't allowed to walk yet.

But if that was the law the elder sibling knew it didn't apply to his little brother; the toddler was super smart and could easily beat any other baby in all kinds of challenges so that meant he should be allowed to walk now.

"Just come over here," Dean gently encouraged, but the young boy just stared at him with blank confusion; not understanding what he was supposed to be doing.

"Come on Sammy! You can do it!" He urged, and to try and draw the kid over he pulled his favourite funny face; his eyes crossing inwards and his lip rising up to give the impression of bunny teeth.

The technique worked as the toddler let out a delighted giggle at his brother's antics and stretched his arms out to grasp for the older boy.

To carry out this motion his tiny body automatically took a couple of quick stumbles forward and Dean beamed as his baby brother took a full ten steps before collapsing into his arms with a playful scream.

"Way to go Sammy! That was awesome!" The elder gushed, picking the kid up and spinning him in a large circle; the child recognised the excitement and enthusiastically clapped at his sibling's words, squealing as the room revolved around his head.

"I'm going to have you sprinting around the place in no time!" Dean laughed, hugging his brother closer as he got dizzy and stumbled to the floor.

As his bottom hit the ground the boy's gaze glanced up and fell on his dad standing in the motel doorway watching them; he hadn't seen him arrive but the wide grin doubled as he tripped over his own words in excitement, "Did you see it? Dad he walked! Sammy can walk! He's gonna be the best kid out of everyone and be really cool and fun and clever and everything!"

John looked over his two boys huddled on the floor, he'd just returned from doing research for the latest hunt when he'd caught the end of Sam accomplishing his first steps but somehow, he hadn't felt the need to interrupt or get involved.

Seeing the pride in Dean's eyes, equal to any similar emotion you'd see in most parents the hunter sensed something within him stating that he should be the one sitting with the walking toddler in his arms – he should be the one beaming with pride.

But three people were dead and so would more if he didn't find a way to kill this creature, so he gave his son a quick smile and replied, "Well done kid," And moved towards his room where he kept a collection of antique books that might be able to give him some kind of information.

He didn't notice the smile cracking on his eldest' face as the boy got a lack of excitement from his dad for what Sammy had just done – it had been awesome, why wasn't his dad as happy as he was?

However his little brother cut through any sadness he had for their dad's lack of enjoyment as the boy hit him on the shoulder and energetically shouted, "De!"

Dean's head snapped back to the toddler and his mouth fell open, hardly being able to work a thought as Sam kept gazing at him with those brown eyes continuously repeating, "De! De!"

"I – yes!" The elder laughed; his features splitting into a ray of emotion as his baby brother kept shouting his first word, "That's me! Yeah Sammy, I'm Dean!"

The boy bounced his brother in his arms as what definitely weren't tears swelled in his eyes as the kid clapped and shouted – he knew his brother was the best! He set out learning how to walk and ended up talking as well!

Though despite the factor of Sam's first word their father's door stayed shut, the hunter smiling at the sound of his youngest talking but needing to continue with his research – Dean was sorting it out anyway.

"Winchester – here's a man who'll actually be of use," Jack, an energetic young hunter, bellowed with a smirk as John strolled into the kitchen, "Tell the old man here that there is no way a Caelin could survive in a frost-bite place like Russia!"

John rolled his eyes as Rufus pierced a murderous glare at the kid for the old man comment, half the time he wondered how the older hunter still had any friends with the amount of death threats he dished out to anyone his junior making similar comments, "Keep me out of it – I haven't got time to bury anyone's corpse."

"Wouldn't be a corpse if it was my work," Rufus muttered, taking a swig of beer and throwing his feet onto the article covered table.

This simply made Jack grin wider, nudging John in the side and non-discreetly whispering behind his hand, "Only cause he wouldn't be able to go through with it – loves me too much you see."

John chuffed and smacked the young lad fondly around the head, he sometimes wondered if his eldest would have these same annoying traits when he was older – he hoped not, at eleven Dean had already mastered the use of sarcasm quite enough.

They were at Bobby's for a couple of weeks, originally it had just been a vacation visit for the boys who'd been pestering to see their Uncle Bobby again, but then a few days ago Jack and Rufus had turned up after bumping into each-other hitting the same hunt in the local area; so work continued once more.

A chattering flurry came into hearing, synchronised with a pair of heavy footsteps and John looked up to see seven year old Sam bounce into the room with a drained hunter at his side.

" – and then Dean said we could catch the butterfly but I left the net open and it flew back out, so then –" The boy's words jumbled into a tone of high pitched noise and his friend threw him a desperate look.

"Lads more talkative than I last remember ain't he?" Bobby sighed, glancing down and giving the still talking child a smile before pushing him towards Jack so he could repeat stories about his brother to someone else.

The younger man laughed as Bobby mumbled something that sounded like 'idgit broken record' under his breath and knelt down to meet the height of the doe-eyed kid, "I think Uncle Bobby's going to need some aspirin there Sammy."

Despite the fact the seven year old had hardly paused for breath in the past ten minutes, the moment that name passed Jack's lips little Sam's voice closed up and he sent a glare that somehow managed to look threatening on such soft childish features at the man, "My name's Sam!"

John grinned at the seriousness of his boy's tone and the expression of shock on his friend's; stepping forward he clapped a hand on the man's shoulder and stated a fond fact, "Number one rule Jack! Don't take it personally, the kid has this thing of only letting his family use the extended name – one of your strange quirks isn't it Sammy."

However opposite to the reaction of agreement the father expected from his youngest, the boy turned his wide eyes up to the man's gentle yet partially smug smile with a small set frown and the same tone he'd used to address the other hunter, and repeated, "My name is Sam."

John blinked at the response, the smug quality from his lips fading with the intense stare he was receiving; the corner of his eye registered the awkward flick of eye contact Jack sent to Rufus who was watching the interaction and he let out a slightly off-tempo chuckle.

"Oh decided you're too big for that name now?" The father analysed, sure that was the reason for being spoken to in the same attitude used on a man his son had only met a few days ago.

The brown eyes gained a hint of confusion at the question and his answer contained he same hardness in tone, "No."

"Hey Sammy!" A similar voice echoed from the hallway, "I fixed the net – you still want to catch that butterfly?"

The child's face was swept of all firmness at the sound of his brother and his whole body lit up, "Yeah! Yeah!" He shouted, running over to Dean who had appeared in the living room with an impressive sized net and jumping on his arm, shaking it madly.

"Sammy – Sammy!" The elder boy laughed, swinging one arm around his brother's waist in a casual practiced movement and holding him on his hip with a strength not many other eleven year olds could claim to have, "Don't break it again!"

As John watched his boys, there was a tug in his gut as no cold glare or firm tone followed Dean's use of the affectionate nickname and he didn't notice the brief flash of sympathy thrown his direction from Bobby.

He'd been sure he had heard the kid once explaining to one of their many motel neighbours how he didn't like being called Sammy because only his family could do that.

He felt the smile flicker from his face at the thought as his eyes lingered on Sam securing his arms around his brother's neck and beginning to chatter in his ear again; did that mean…

The thought pattern snapped away and he smirked at his behaviour – must just be a faulty memory.

Besides, he had a hunt that needed his main focus.

The click of the door latch pulled John from his latest journal entry and he smiled at his ten year old entering the motel room, "Hey son."

"Hi," Came the brief reply as he collapsed onto the sofa and automatically dragged a pile of his much beloved homework from his bag.

"Good day at school?" John prompted, the boy wasn't one for words on immediate return from school; those second hand books ensnared the majority of his attention.

Sam didn't even glance up as he murmured, "Same old," and began scratching on the paper.

With a light hum of acceptance John nodded and returned to his own work; there ended the average extent of conversation with his youngest during these daily slots – it was a simple routine.

However as he pressured some shading onto their most recently hunted creature a light tension remained in his muscles; subconsciously awaiting the question that was asked each day.

"When's Dean back?"

There it was – that wistful tone intermingled with a slice of hope repeating those words like a broken record.

If John ever made to think deeper about the traditional question he may have recognised the pattern of it being Sam's main interest whenever it was just the two of them; he may have noticed that his youngest didn't seem to enjoy his singular company.

But analysing was exclusive to monsters of the dark not family issues so instead he flipped the page and replied, "In a few minutes, his bus takes a longer route than yours remember."

Silence encircled the room once more following the child's deflated sigh; father and son sitting a couple of metres apart yet barely noticing the others' existence.

John could remember a time when his youngest would return home and roll off a non-stop flurry of noise about anything and everything, to others the happiness shining in the boy's eyes would have enticed them to humour the child and listen to the senseless stories – however the noise only caused John to make mistakes or distract him from vital research and once in blind frustration he had barked something along the lines of, "I don't care about your stupid school Sam! Can you just shut your mouth for one minute!"

… or something to that degree.

Sam probably didn't even remember him saying it, he's sure kids get over things quickly – but the boy was well-behaved and quiet on return these days and although it meant he could easily continue with his cases… John sometimes wondered if he should make more of an effort to ask him about the place he enjoys so much now and then.

The tapping of pens continued, ten minutes had passed when Sam's head whipped up with canine senses looking to the door seconds before the click of the lock signalled Dean's arrival.

Just the action of his eldest pushing open the stained wood invoked an immediate response from the ten year old and he launched at his brother; excitement plastering his face and a piece of paper crumbled between his fingers.

"I did it! Look Dean I did it! I did it!" The boy shouted as he waved the sheet in-front of his face, clinging to the young teenager's arm for insurance that he was looking at the paper.

A genuine smile lit Dean's face as his little brother attacked his arm; on taking the sheet to get a proper read a pride that could outstand any parents for their child gleamed in the gaze that drew back to the eager kid, "Of course you did Sammy – didn't I say you would!"

But the young boy didn't release his brother yet, he kept his brown orbs trained on the older teen as if awaiting a specific cue.

Without breaking eye contact Dean crouched down so he was at level with the kid and he placed a light grip on the back of his neck; his tone softening to one only ever aimed at his baby brother, "I'm really proud of you kid."

It was clear that this had been what the ten year old had been waiting for from the beam that stretched across his face and he flung his arms around the teen's neck.

Dean rolled his eyes at the response but returned the hug non-the less before ruffling the kid's hair and switching back to his trademark smirk, "Come on we're not doing chick-flicks here – but how about we go and get some of that ice-cream you enjoy drooling over to celebrate?"

The kid's features heightened to the verge of cracking at the offer and sensing he was about to get another armful of Sam the older boy beat him to the punch by swinging the ecstatic ten year old onto his back; laughing as a string of noise sprouted from his beaming smile, "Can I have that big chocolate one with the sauce and chocolate sprinkles and marshmallows and the long spoon and the sauce –"

"Yeah Sammy you can have whichever one you want," Dean chuckled, grabbing a jacket for his brother, "You could even get that banana spilt triple scoop glory – Meg works the after school shift and she's a sucker for your whole lost puppy vibe, she'll give it to you on the house."

Throughout the conversation John had sat in a silent captivation, as if a barrier had somehow separated him from the world his sons were currently in – Dean who always had the highest respect and desire to please his father, who although only fourteen would have late night discussions with him at the times grief for Mary robbed his breath like an old friend, hadn't even glanced in his direction.

But the teenager placing a hand on the door indicating he was about to leave the room unaccompanied with no form of weapon or defence had the hunter smash down the invisible wall.

"Where are you going?"

It had meant to come out as a traditional 'I am your father so answer me' growl yet in hindsight it had been more of a self-pitying whine.

A muscle pulled in his chest at the slight jump of his eldests' shoulder and the surprise on his face; it hadn't been that the boy was simply ignoring him – he hadn't noticed he was there.

"Just the diner around the corner," The teen's tone was apologetic but there was a firmness that pushed the reality that if ordered to stay, he wouldn't comply – a rare truth but a truth none the less on occasions revolved around his little brother, "Sam worked hard and it's a tradition."

The light shrug and lack of listing safety precautions he would take caused a frown to dip on John's forehead, clearly Dean thought he knew why on earth they should be celebrating – and what tradition? He wasn't aware their family had any of them; unless you counted his habit of getting stone drunk on his wife's birthday each year… but that wasn't something he would admit to happening.

"Sam always works hard at school – what's with the sudden ice-cream today?"

Now any kind of sympathy ever sent in John's direction was met with a clenched jaw, however when the pitying expression came from your own son it seemed to be just that much worse.

Dean glanced at the kid who had hidden in his brother's neck the moment their dad had join the conversation and the passing looked shared a meaning that the man couldn't grasp, then the teenager was shuffling his feet, throwing him that dis-arming smile he sent to all those maternal figures they'd met on their trips who he'd let down gently from their desire to coddle them, "Sorry I guess Sammy forgot to mention it – his year had this quiz contest for their latest tests, to encourage the kids to work harder and stuff, something this one needs no help with-"

Here he tickled the kid's dangling foot which released a high pitched giggle from the boy, "But he won! Got the top grade out of all the kid's in his grade – showed those other brats who the smartest ten year old is didn't you."

John blinked and he could feel that wall beginning to re-build itself, but this time the father in him managed to push its way to the surface and he smiled at his youngest, "Well done son, I'm proud of you."

Subconsciously he knew that the section that had pushed forward the emotion had been hoping for the words to gain the same reaction they had when leaving Dean's mouth; however the boy simply buried his face into his brother's neck like the shy child he was when they met new people.

"Say thank you Sammy," The teen prompted when there was an awkward moment of no reply and the young boy shuffled his head to glance over at his father with a mumbled 'thank you' before averting gaze once more.

He could feel that the wall was nearly established once more, the boy was being mouth fed responses as if his own dad was some common stranger, and by the time Dean had given an 'I'll be careful' nod and shut the door, it was fully standing.

Dropping his pen John found himself hovering over to the window, watching his eldest running down the road with Sam on his back, arms out-stretched like an aeroplane – even from inside he could hear the pearls of laughter being left behind them.

Dean may have tried to shrug off the fact Sam hadn't told him about the competition, made it out that it wasn't really a big deal so it didn't matter that their father wasn't told.

But that didn't stop the ache in John's chest when he remembered how he'd asked his youngest son if anything had happened in school and the boy had just given a shrug and non-commercial noise.

Because Dean may have said it wasn't a big deal, but the joy that lit the ten year olds face when he'd jumped around in excitement about the occasion spoke otherwise – he'd been ecstatic about the news, couldn't wait to tell his big brother.

And that was the gut-punch – he couldn't wait to tell his brother… but he didn't want to tell his dad.

However the hunter snapped back to a blank canvas the second his boys turned the corner out of sight and he shook his head, running a hand over his un-trimmed beard before settling into his chair once more.

It was good that Dean had taken his little brother out; the boy would have started to get bored and moan soon anyway.

And he had a new case to find.

Wails of yet another child who refused to go and see 'the nice doctor' grated John's ears and pushing off the front desk he practically growled at the nurse who tried to stop him from taking a seat in the blissfully empty ICU waiting room; he may not have anyone in intensive care right now but he was sure that would change at some point in the future, plus he doubted anyone would try to move him with the trained killer vibe he naturally emitted.

The man hated hospitals; they were giant false identity cover blows and Child Protection Service traps all mixed together with a pungent sterilisation waft – a shot of whiskey did exactly the same job with no need for a scent that enjoys burning the inside of your nose.

Up till this point John had managed to keep the kids clear of these buildings; any sustained injuries were always limited to bruising, cuts or occasionally a mild form of concussion and any more serious wounds he'd sustained whilst on a solo job had been quickly patched up by a local emergency room who easily accept the hunting accident excuse – it wasn't as if the CPS would start asking if he was being abused.

However the latest hunt had destroyed track-record.

It had been Sam's first official one, a step up from the traditional salt and burn for his eleventh birthday treat. So he'd taken them after a lone Panric – it could be classified as a mutated dog at the most, hardly anything worthy of serious damage.

Sam had a clear shot, the creature had been piling straight for him and his gun was already aimed directly at the heart; but with that classic Winchester fortune the boy's barrel had jammed and he'd suddenly become the defenceless target.

John had held his ground, the monster would penetrate his gun-line with a few more paces and Sam would only suffer a few cuts.

Yet what he hadn't accounted for was his over-protective fifteen year old son leaping in-front of his brother and getting flung into a tree, leaving the other boy to only experience the weight of a dead Panric draped over him from the hunter's sniper shot.

Therefore Sam had walked away with some mild bruising on his chest whereas Dean had left with a broken arm.

Hence the reason for John currently filling out registration forms in a hospital; bruises he could fix, broken bones were another story.

He huffed and scrawled a fake signature at the bottom of Dean's sheet, these places asked a tedious amount of questions – allergies, past injuries, vaccinations… for some reason they even wanted to know the kid's favourite colour.

The file may be mundane but at least it was easy, at this time of night he really didn't have the energy to rack his brain for random titbits of past information.

Wiping a hand over his face he dropped the form onto the neighbouring chair and picked up an identical blank copy to repeat the process for his youngest; he would have patched him up back at the motel but bringing one child in for a broken arm and not allowing the other who was in obvious pain get treated simply screamed abuse.

List any allergies, John's hand froze over the question, he was sure Sam was allergic to something… sprouts? No, that was Dean's fake allergy – that and school.

He frowned and moved the pen down; it would come back to him.

Next asked whether the child had received the health board stated regulation vaccinations… John could remember getting Dean jabbed when he was three, the kid had caused a huge fuss; they'd almost ended up paying the hospital for a new window. But had he ever taken his youngest?

It wasn't a question he could truthfully answer and skimming the rest of the paper John was struck by the realisation that actually bar Sam's name; he didn't know any of this information.

"Hey dad," Dean smiled and strolled over with an attitude of owning the place, he was going to be faultless at taking on roles of cops, FBI members or priests when he got older, "Sammy's just getting some fancy bandages put around his chest - he's totally whining about not needing them 'like some wimpy girl' as I quote, so I'm grabbing him a drink – you want something?"

John couldn't believe his son sometimes; he was the one brought into the hospital for a serious injury yet he was walking around with a newly fresh cast fetching drinks for his brother who was hardly in the injured classification on Winchester terms – the kid didn't know when to stop.

"I'm alright thanks," He replied and gestured to the sling, "But shouldn't you be resting that – I'm sure your brother can get his own drink if he's that thirsty."

A puzzled frown dipped on his features at his dad's words; an expression that put forward the message that the boy had no understanding of why he should be taking care of himself if his little brother needed something; even if it was just a drink, it was a glimpse of the deep foundation that had at some point sketched itself into his whole identity.

However it was only a brief flash – John couldn't even be sure if he hadn't just been completely over-analysing one expression, as the trademark smirk threw itself into its rightful place and Dean punched back, "Knowing the kid he'd probably manage to break a leg on the way to the machines – and then that would just defy the whole point of me having a busted arm."

The teen didn't notice his dad wasn't joining in with his laughter at the casual remark for the lack of safety he had for his own being; did Dean just see himself as a walking-talking human shield for his little brother?

"What you doing anyway?" He queried, tilting his head to examine the two files by the hunter – one full, the other empty.

John tried to ignore the look in his son's gaze as he lifted his head from the files; it seemed to be holding a mixture of anger and sympathy, yet also what seemed to be… acceptance.

"Just – doing the paperwork," He muttered, fiddling the pen in between his fingers in an unconscious attempt to seem as if he was just about to write answers on Sam's paper, "Never done this stuff before."

Clicking the pen against the clipboard again, he heard Dean sigh and his head snapped up when he swore the release of air had formed the words, "I have."

"What?" His tone came out sharper than he'd meant it but the teen didn't react, simply gave a disconnected hum and took the chair next to him.

"Hey," Dean coughed, reaching out his undamaged hand towards the clipboard, "Maybe you are right about me taking it easy – why don't you go fetch the princess a drink and I'll just finish up his form."

His voice was too casual and he was holding his gaze too firmly, as if daring him to question the sudden change of action – John had the strange feeling that the teen was trying to somehow protect him from something, as if he knew that the empty file was mocking him with un-answerable questions.

"I'm not sure if you'll know all the information," He returned, although sensing the likelihood that it was defiantly not the case.

Dean innocently shrugged and gripped the board, "I'll just make some bits up."

John didn't try to argue another point; he just conceded a quick nod and took a straight exit from the room.

However, as he turned the corner his eye-line briefly fell back on his eldest son who was writing with a speed and routine that made the small whisper re-emerge in his head.

"I have."

He hadn't planned to look into it any further – it was probably just a forgotten memory of a time his son filled in a similarly formatted form for Sam.

But as he walked past the front desk the name of his youngest son drew him in; glancing outside he could see the two boys arguing over whom should get shot-gun and he found his eyes suddenly scanning the messy handwriting of his fifteen year old and he found a few answers standing out.

Allergies: Broccoli

Past hospital emergencies: Heightened case of measles when seven due to not being vaccinated, admitted for three days

Vaccinations: Health regulated vaccinations given after measles were treated

Favourite Colour: You ask him and he'll tell you blue because his dad told him that's all boys preferred colour, but really… it's yellow.

The hunter pushed the paper away and dulled the uncomfortable stab in his gut; of course Sam would have gotten ill while he was away hunting sometimes – and it shown good initiative that his eldest had gotten his brother medical care and made sure he was vaccinated.

But John could feel a very distance part of him scream that his son had been in a hospital for three days and he never knew.

Or that he couldn't even tell a stranger his son's favourite colour.

John re-started the car and pulled a U-Turn with a restrained sigh; he'd been driving to interview the widow of the latest victim to what he thought was a rouge vampire when an unregistered number had flashed up and turned out to be his thirteen year olds new teacher asking if he could come to the school.

"Is something wrong? Is Sam hurt?" The father demanded with ferocity in his tone as if the woman was ringing with a ransom note.

"No – no he's fine Mr Randers," She hastily replied, clearly startled by the unprompted aggression, "Your sons just a bit upset and his behaviour is unsettling some of our other pupils, so we were wondering if you could come and talk to him – he isn't responding to any of us."

John rolled his eyes; this was why he never liked the idea of sending the boys to schools – their behaviour after any harder hunt than usual always got picked up on by nosy teachers, he hoped they'd get better at hiding it as time went on.

In this circumstance; they had left their last town in a hurry, the job had involved one messed up ghost who'd decided to make use of his after-life by re-enacting every failed film script he had written throughout his days… but unfortunately his passion had been in the high end horror.

John hadn't let either of his boys help with the case; not even Dean – which had been a whole argument in itself.

However due to an error on his part, the ghost had realised he was being hunted so had decided little Sam would be perfect in his next debut.

Luckily John had arrived back to the motel room just in time to see Dean regain consciousness and they'd managed to reach the haunted cabin and gank the monster before filming was due to begin.

Sam wasn't hurt, not even a scratch – however the ritual sacrifice had been fully set up on arrival with the boy tied down to a stained stone table, lambs blood running off his face and a freshly sharpened knife dangling above his exposed throat; so he had been pretty shaken.

John had assumed his son would be fully recovered by now; the incident was three days ago and they were a couple of states across – he'd left as Dean was getting the boy ready for school and he had appeared perfectly normal and balanced; which was how it should be expected with that amount of extended recovery time.

He had half a mind to just tell the teacher to deal with it, let him brood in silence or draw some pictures to express him emotions; the kind of stuff community schools enjoyed making kids do in the desire to seem like they're helping the pupils. Sam had to learn that there were always going to be dangers in the world and he couldn't be coddled from them all the time – he needed to learn to suck these things up and move on.

Yet that hidden fatherly section of his brain rubbed at his conscious and with great sacrifice he found himself muttering, "I'll come now."

Besides, this potential vampire hunt may need some hard-headed research and three stable brains were better than two.

The hunter kept a steady mantra running through his head as yet another bad-mouthed child shoved past him with an added attempt to trip him up, 'I only kill monsters, I only kill monsters.'

Fortunately for the students of Willows High, John sighted the room he'd been indicated at reception and slid into the class; shooting a murderous glare at a child who had the formation of a mischievous glint in his beady eyes and sending him sprinting on with his gaze burning into the floor.

It seemed the class was out for lunch as he shut the door and was sighted with an empty space; the only occupants being a middle-aged man with an impressive beard standing by the front-desk, a young woman who he assumed was the teacher who'd summoned him and his youngest, who was slouched in a chair with his head down so his fringe covered a large proportion of his face.

Hearing the click of the door, the young teacher's head flicked up and a spread of subtle relief graced her features as she stood up from kneeling next to Sam, trying to obtain a response.

"Mr Randers, I'm glad you could come," She whispered, stepping over and making brief contact with his elbow to guide him to where the bearded-man stood, an inquisitive stare fixed on the boy.

"This is Dr Phillips," She introduced, "He's our school psychiatrist –"

"You've called in a shrink!" John hissed, "Are you calling my son crazy!" What right did these people have to decide who they could use as their next little pet project?

He caught the doctor rolling his eyes at the remark; clearly it was a common response to his presence, however the young female was quick to disregard his opinion, "Oh no – no, Mark isn't here to treat him, the school simply has a policy of not leaving a child alone with only one member of staff…" Her tone faltered and she threw a glance at her un-moved student, "However, we are worried – Sam hasn't spoken a word for the entirety of the morning and has shown no signs of movement… the only time was when somebody tried to touch him and then it was only so he could flinch away."

John frowned at the words; he couldn't think why his son would be so intently distance following the hunt, he'd seen events worse than a sacrificial ritual in the past, "So what do you want me to do?"

He must have let off a very strong out-of-depth single parent vibe as the young woman released a sympathetic sigh and reached to lightly squeeze his arm, "Just talk to him – I think he'll respond to his father's comfort."

The silent psychiatrist also broke gaze from Sam at the question and aimed him a supposedly reassuring nod which resembled more of a general's conformation to begin a mission than a high school shrink's support.

He took as much time as was non-suspiciously possible to approach his youngest; hoping that he could think of anything to say to the boy.

Sam had always been the emotional one of the family, a lot of his mother in him, however this had always left John in the deep end when it came to comfort; with Dean all he ever needed was a cut or bruise patched up, a pat on the shoulder and he was on his way – but Sam… well, actually he couldn't remember the last time he'd dealt with any genre of hunt after-math from his youngest – the kid always went to Dean.

"Sam?" He coughed, looming over where the boy sat, "What's… um – are you okay?"

The weak question gained no response and he wiped a hand over his mouth, glancing back to where the shrink was fixing him with a cold analysing stare and the young teacher was offering an encouraging smile; really – were they hanging around waiting for a hug?

His eyes cut back down to Sam and his eyebrows drew together – he hoped they weren't, he was pretty sure that any move to embrace the young boy would be an overly awkward experience for the both of them; they weren't ones to share physical contact.

"Do you need something?" He questioned, crouching to the boy's level and placing a hand on his knee.

And John defiantly didn't feel a stab of rejection in his chest when Sam jerked away from his touch.

"Right – well… " He slid his hand away as if pretending it had never tried to give comfort and his voice faded out; the man not knowing what else he could do, plus he could practically feel the accusing eyes on his back asking why he wasn't able to connect to his son.

A harsh bang on the door interrupted the tense silence that was threatening to settle and the three adults turned their heads to witness a spikey-haired teenager with worry dripping from his gaze poke around the entrance.

Before either of the teachers could question the new comer's identity or John could wonder how on earth his eldest had known what was going on, Dean caught sight of his muted brother and pushed into the classroom.

"Sammy?" His voice was concerned but lacked expected signs of panic, as if he somehow had already worked out the details of the problem.

The second he reached the kid, shaky hands clutched to his shirt and a head hid into his chest; reflexively Dean wrapped his arms around his little brother and lay his chin atop the mess of brown locks – he inwardly sighed at Sam's allowance of public signs of weakness by latching to him, it meant he was more messed up than the kid had admitted when dropping him at school that morning; from his word's there he'd made it seem like he'd at least be able to handle himself until the school bell.

"Yeah… I know," Dean whispered, moving Sam so he could sit on the chair with the kid in his lap rather than uncomfortably balance in a crouch on the floor with the weight of a thirteen year old leaning against him.

His little brother was always like this after a bad hunt; of course dad had never seen this side of Sammy because the kid had this thing with adrenaline where the details of an event wouldn't hit him until after it had finished and he was sitting quietly where the memories could creep up. Which was why the man had looked completely out of place next to a verging breakdown Sam when Dean had arrived.

John felt yet another tug on seeing Sam's immediate reaction to his brother and the acceptance of comfort; the boy hadn't even let him place a hand on his leg.

Rubbing the back of his neck he turned away from the scene and looked to the other occupants who were watching him for an explanation of the sudden seventeen year old who could gain Sam's response; with a gruff tone he indicated towards his eldest, "That's my other son Dean."

The young teacher's expression drastically melted into one of adoration at this revelation and the hunter tensed, sensing there was a possibility she may make a sudden grab for his boys and take them home with her.

However the strong and silent Dr Phillips kept a cold gaze firmly on John, an unspoken question of why did Sam's brother understand him better than his own father shooting from his mannerism.

As if I should know the answer to that? Watching Dean continue to mutter soothing tones into his brother's ear and rub his arm, John couldn't understand how just by one glance his eldest seemed to automatically know why the boy had digressed into a mood of seclusion – or for a more important matter, how he'd known to come.

"Dean," He stated in the voice that enforced his demand for the truth, "How did you know I'd been called in for Sam?"

His dad's military persona broke through the teen's concentration on his little brother and glancing up a nervous flicker crossed his features; after a couple of seconds he began a cautious reply, but not raising to meet the man's eyes, "Well – whenever I register Sammy in a new school… " He coughed and cleared his throat, an unconscious attempt to delay his answer, "I kind of – well, I put myself down as his parental guardian so I'm the first form of emergency contact."

John froze, he could sense the curious and turning to mildly suspicious gaze of the teacher as well as that irritating phony shrink further analysing the conversation – was the man asking for a beating?

"I'm really sorry you got called in," Dean continued, "I didn't realise my phone was dead and I found the message about fifteen minutes ago – but they would have called you as the second contact when I didn't answer, I still wrote you down as his biological dad although I said I had guardianship… I'm sorry, I know you were busy – don't worry it won't happen again."

His son must have been taking his stoic behaviour for anger at being ripped from a hunt; although the lack of movement wasn't a foundation of annoyance, yet something similar to a genre of sadness.

The hunter didn't know what was impacting him more – the fact that Dean didn't seem to trust him as the parental guardian to his own son or that he clearly had an impression that dealing with Sam's grief's was an unwanted burden on his dad.

How many times had Dean been called into one of the many schools to help his youngest son? Was there this collection of events that John didn't even know about because in the eyes of all of Sam's past education establishments he wasn't the boy's guardian – Dean was.

No… it doesn't matter, the hunter section scrambled to the surface again and he shook off his previous thoughts. It had been a logical decision on his son's part, Dean was always more likely to be readily available to deal with a school emergency since he refused to go on hunt's during his brother's working hours – plus he always knew how to deal with the boy's emotion mess.

"Yes – well make sure you keep better tabs on your phone's battery life in the future," John ordered, not noticing Sam flinch at the undertone of rejection and lack of desire to understand why he was upset, or the slight stiffness in Dean's confirming nod.

Then without further comment the hunter turned his back to the boys and moved towards the door that was being held open by the prying eyed shrink who he was positive shouldn't have any title close to 'doctor' for the fact he didn't seem to do anything apart from breath and stare.

Yet, as the hinged wood was being pushed closed behind him, leaving him in the mists of yelling children and angered teacher's – a mild hum of a conclusive tone caught his ears.

"Are you sure you know how many sons you have?"

"Heads up princess!"

Sam's hand automatically rose to the call of his brother and he felt an object collide with his grip, glancing away from the TV he rolled his eyes at what he was now holding and leant his head backwards over the sofa to fix the four day legal drinker a bemused expression, "You do realise that you being 21 doesn't magically make me alcohol legal as well?"

Breaking open his own beer can the young man raised an eyebrow, "Since when have we learnt the definition of legal?"

Sam returned a lob-sided grin, "You're such a bad role model."

"Dude I've let you drink for a year now – you want to be awesome, look at me; you want to be all law abiding citizen," A sharp burp cut into the sentence, "Go bunk with our good old 'keep the noise down' friend next door."

The teen shook his head at the thought of the middle aged man who'd probably made himself their first over a week neighbour in all of history – they may stay at motels for abnormally long periods of time but that didn't mean anyone else did.

He'd probably be around in an hour telling them to shut up and go to bed.

Cracking his own can he took a swig, but pulled a face when the taste hit and lifted the metal up to read it, "Yeah but you're not even role worthy in the awesome section – if you want to corrupt me at least do it with something that isn't found in the sewage system."

Dean's smirk fell into a scowl and he swung his arm around the teen's neck as he leapt over the back of the sofa, causing a yelp of 'Dude!' as the boy attempted to save the hair that was undergoing a violent scrub, "Well I thought it'd make you feel more at home with the stench you're giving off."

Fighting a release Sam huffed at his brother's laughter, not needing a mirror to tell he looked like he'd dragged through the back-end of a bush; stabbing an elbow into the man's ribs he rebounded, "I'm not the one who's slept in a pig sty."

"One time man!" Dean defended, holding back a grimace from another sip of his beer and casually leaning to place it out of sight on the floor; there was no need to admit Sam had a point about the taste, "Besides, it was that or the mad granny who tried to shoot me in the rat infested farmhouse – and I didn't want to take the chance of her stewing me for dinner or some other psycho thing."

"She was perfectly nice to me when I came looking for you the next day," The teen replied with a smug glint, "Even gave me a slice of home-made apple pie."

"Only because you have that whole abandoned puppy thing – at least I don't asked if I'm looking for 'mummy and daddy' whilst shopping."

Sam's cheeks marginally flushed followed by a low mutter, "I was fourteen."

"Yet I was hooking up with senior girls at that age," He gloated, grabbing the remote from the coffee table and flicking through the limited channels, "All those hound eyes get you are mothers who desire to take you home and feed you till you drop."

The teen rolled his eyes but didn't reply to the jab because his brother had found the channel he'd been searching for and he felt his body melt of tension as the soft music floated from the television.

Watching the twenty-four hour classical music channel had become a common practice between the brothers that would never be spoken of to another living soul.

It had started when Sam was a little kid who didn't understand why his dad would come home covered in blood and scars, which resulted in frequent nightmares over the thought that whatever was hurting their dad might come and damage him and Dean as well.

Dean tried everything he could think of to stop his baby brother's night terrors, even given the kid his headphones to listen to Metallica as he drifted off, which was the elder boy's own technique for keeping away the scary images.

However it wasn't until one night when he had a shaking child wrapped up in his arms from a nightmare so extreme he refused to actually discuss it, that he had clicked the remote to find something that would distract Sammy from his thoughts and the first channel had been a random classical music show. Of course the pre-teen had gone to switch straightaway but a small whimper of 'Leave it,' had him putting the control down and stroking his little brother's hair as the boy fell into his first peaceful sleep to the lull of violins and harps.

If it hadn't been the one thing that seemed to stop his nightmares, Dean would have definitely teased the kid for being such a girl.

From there classical music extended into their lives; they had yet to find a motel that didn't have the channel and although Sam stopped asking for his brother to put it on if he had a nightmare when he got to the young teenage years – it would still end up being the noise to wake him the next morning.

Then it became a comforting practice for evenings when they were simply tired – with no spoken words one brother would sense when the latest hunt or event had crossed that line and they'd wait for their dad to leave (which would never take long) before settling in-front of the television to let that sphere of calmness spread over them.

However the embarrassment of secretly enjoying the vibes of the classical genre was what had stemmed Dean's 'driver picks the music' rule, so he could blare out endless rock to ensure his manliness was always kept in check.

The waves of violins remained as the only noise for a period of time, but with multiple glances to his little brother Dean's exclusive gentle tone eventually posed concern that had been present since moving from their previous home a few days ago, "Are you alright Sammy?"

He caught the deflate in his little brother's shoulders as if he'd been waiting for the question, but he didn't take his gaze from the screen and settled with a half shrug and a mumbled, "I'm good."

Dean sighed at the blatant lie – the kid was all for touchy-feely emotion sharing when his brother was upset but turn the tables and suddenly he's all Mr Defence Walls.

"Course, because all 'good' people don't eat for over fifteen hours," Sam's head jerked at the comment, "Yeah you didn't think I'd noticed idiot – which by the way means you're getting two full fat breakfasts shoved down your stomach tomorrow morning; only reason I'm not hijacking the nearest diner now is because I noticed they weren't 24 hour services on the way up."

He scouted the kid's face for a response, and when none was presented his hand prepared to whack the teen round the back of the head to see if that would make words fall from his mouth; however before the action was required Sam dropped his head, letting strands of hair hide his gaze, "I just…" He sniffed, swallowing to pull back emotions, "I'm just going to miss her."

Dean didn't need to ask who he was referring to – unlike his charming, confident and cocky older brother the kid had never been as good at the whole talking to girls situation; yet at their last home he'd clicked with a cute petite brunette called Suzie.

They'd stayed for a rare extended time period, so Sam and his girl had been dating for roughly three months – he'd even gone out for a meal with the lovebirds to officially meet her, which was satisfying after having to listen to the teen moon over her every night.

It had also given him a proud sense that Sam had wanted him to meet his first serious girlfriend; but that was something he wouldn't be admitting to or informing their dad of… although he doubted the man had even been aware of Suzie.

But while all of this had been playing out Dean had always been dreading this moment, when it was all unjustly ripped from the love-struck kid and he may have an unhealthy passion for hunting and it may be second nature to follow his father's instructions to the last detail but any form of pain passing his little brother's face trumped all that.

For not the first time he wished Sam could be given the normal life he so desired.

"Me too," He murmured, casting another sweep, taking in the slouched posture and fingers picking at his wristband; he felt he should say something else but wasn't quite sure exactly what.

The decision was fortunately taken from him as his brother shifted and swung his legs to rest in the young man's lap, a non-verbal assurance to the repeated statement, "Really, I'm good."

Dean smirked but didn't shove the limbs off; he knew it would take a while for the kid to truthfully recover and he was sure at some point in the next week he'd fine himself comforting a teary teen late at night, but for now, he could allow Sam the light physical comfort.

"When do you think John will be back," The teen re-steered the conversation, "Days, weeks?"

"He only went away yesterday to scout out the area – he'll probably make an appearance tomorrow," Dean replied; where once he'd spewed out waves of anger at Sam calling their dad by 'John', over years of hearing it he had come to except the fact that his little brother was never going to see him in that father image and he no longer flinched at it.

Anyway it was an achievement enough that he'd got the kid to stop calling him dad like he had done as a small child.

Not that he didn't understand why Sam had got the labels mixed up – speaking from the subconscious that actually saw the flaws in his father; it wasn't as if Sammy ever experienced the man in father-mode.

"If that even…"

The mutter was barely verbal but despite hearing it Dean didn't comment; at this point he'd found it a pointless argument to defend their dad on his arrivals home when he never did return when promised.

So instead he grabbed the blanket strewn on the floor and draped it across them both, swinging his own legs up so they could lay top and tail on the sofa.

Sam smiled at the unspoken offer and clutched to the material, dragging it closer to his neck as he lay his head against the back of the furniture; releasing a content sigh he whispered, "Night Dean," Before succumbing to his fatigue and droning off to the sound of classical music and the sense of his brother's breaths.

"Sleep well kiddo."

Neither boy noticed the subtle released pressure of the door handle as they drifted off, or the faint tap of boots retreating from the motel door.

Neither noticed a man carrying a couple of chocolate bars as a surprise, who had decided to come back early since he'd noticed his youngest seeming slightly off-put from their departure of the last residence walking back to his car with an ache in his chest.

He had been on the verge of opening the door when a stream of violins had caught his ears, he'd moved to peak through a crack in the curtains to double check he was at the right room since he knew his boys would never be willingly listening to that kind of music.

But a frown had etched into his features at the casualness of the moment he could see occurring; it held the feeling of a long-drawn tradition that he had never been aware of or asked to be part of.

Of course he held many other traditions with his sons… well, with Dean at least.

But witnessing the open and relaxed smile on his youngest's face, an expression he didn't think he could ever claim to have seen before; it made a part of him wonder why he hadn't created any traditional events to share with Sam.

However the mild guilt that had crept up with this thought had been blown into orbit with just one sentence.

When do you think John will be back?

Even his hunter persona couldn't save John from the stab that occurred on hearing his own son calling him by his first name, as if he had no emotional or biological connection to the man.

And what made it worse was Dean's lack of reaction to the use – implying that the teenager most likely never referred to him as 'dad' when he wasn't around, that it was such a common event that it was no longer cause for a reaction from his eldest who he knew was always the first to defend his father.

So neither boy noticed their dad slide back into the Impala, brace his shoulders, push down his emotions and drive off to throw himself into the job he'd come for.

And neither saw the hunter for another week.

An unearthly scream pierced the room as the misshaped woman finally combusted, flailing with desperation to escape her second death before she blinked out of existence – leaving a moment of fatigued silence in the violently demolished house.

John had defiantly not foreseen this job to be so dangerous, the research had shown the dead woman to be a kind-hearted governess who'd refused to leave the house in loyalty to the charges she had left behind. However, when the last of those children had died – fortunately well into their seventies – she had become agitated enough for people to draw suspicion about the run-down mansion at the edge of the woods.

The logical assumption was that the ghost had been calling for help, desiring to move on now that her purpose for staying had ceased.

What he would have never guessed was that in reality the governess had remained to guard the children from the spirit of their mother who had been killed during her attempt to murder her own flesh and blood; the failure due to the bravery of the young teacher who had paid the price with her own life.

And this mother had not been happy when two strangers arrived and released her torture play toy from the house.

John hissed as he attempted to move his leg, the jolt of pain told him fortunately it wasn't broken, simply a sprain – the fact that he could tell this from a recognition of pain levels made him wonder if he was starting to lose touch with the increase of injuries in recent years.

"Well… that sucked," A muffled cough broke through, the owner groaning at the weight of the bookcase currently taking residence on his lap.

Hearing that his son was hurt John's energy levels forcibly spiked and moving to push off the floor his mouth formed his eldest's name when suddenly another panicked shout beat him to it.

"Dean!"

Then in a blink his eighteen year old had somehow yanked the furniture off his brother and was rapidly assessing him with wide eyes, his hands hovering over his arm showing a need to have contact but fearful that it may involuntary cause more damage.

Dean retracted this paranoia by clutching the boy's jacket, the movement giving unspoken reassurance for Sam to plough his own grip into the old leather jacket.

"You're not supposed to be here Sammy," Despite the lack of breath stripping obvious tone from his voice the younger brother understood the meaning.

"For goodness sake! You're the one who got thrown about and nearly gutted by crazy-mom," He snapped, "I'm fine!"

"Yeah well so am I," The cocky attitude replied as was the usual when he was in a weak condition; a shot of tension suddenly flashed over his facial muscles, "Where's dad!"

"He'll be alright – he's had worse," Sam's response was automatic, his full focus on his brother with no space for considering other variables.

Seeing his son's reaction in such a blatant form brought back that lurching sensation in John's chest; Sam hadn't looked to this side of the room when he'd run in which meant he wasn't even aware his father was slouched in the far corner – yet on being question about his location he hadn't even glanced around to check the surrounding area.

His youngest didn't care enough to try and find him.

"Sam – find dad!" The sharpened order lost slight impact on ending it as a strained wheeze hence the younger brother didn't listen, instead wrapping one arm around his neck and steadying himself to try and lift Dean up.

"I need to get you to a hospital, you sound like you could have a broken rib and I'm not risking internal damage," His voice level increased as the young man tried to protest, "I'll come straight back after –"

"Find dad!"

"You need – "

"He could be hurt!"

"Yes and I'll come – "

"Just do it!"

"John's the one who nearly got you killed!"

The final sentence echoed across the room and Dean snatched his arm away from his brother's shoulder, slumping back onto the floor, a harness in his gaze yet underlining the anger, a sense of understanding in his next tone, "Find him."

A choking sensation had been cutting off John's speech until now but the power of words managed to return and the voice that emerged was of a vulnerability he had never experienced before, "Sam?"

The look that he received as his youngest son's head snapped around to the sound felt like he'd just been slapped.

It was an expression he would recognise anywhere.

It was one he himself had given to countless citizens who'd gone and got themselves into a damaging situation and required help.

It was the one that spoke, 'Can't you see I have more important things to deal with than you.'

Then suddenly, it hit him.

All those little moments throughout Sam's childhood, all those things he'd forgotten, passed off with a shrug or simply deemed unimportant fought to the surface.

Sam had never seen him as his father.

And he never would.

To him he was just a stranger who forced himself into the boy's life and got his brother hurt.

The realisation kicked in the defence he hadn't even known was a technique over all these years; his face melted off emotion and the hunter worked to assess the situation – find a directive or useful truth of his son's behaviour.

But this time it didn't work.

No façade could push down the pain or gloss over the fact that his own baby boy held no family connection to him.

So he refused the help Sam offered on orders of his brother, he only checked on Dean in the hospital when the younger boy wasn't around and he made sure to book separate rooms in the next accommodation.

Without the hunter persona to shield him, full out avoidance seemed to be the least painful route.

Ten weeks later a motel door was slamming shut and a car was driving away, taking two boys with it – one who would return eventually in roughly a fortnight after calming down and making sure his brother was safe, happy and convincing himself to leave him on his own.

But the other… the other would not be coming back, he knew Dean would still visit him in college because despite being upset about the abandonment was still secretly proud of his accomplishment and that was all he needed.

So Sam had no point for ever returning to see a stranger.

Because as John watched the impala turned off the road and disappear in an array of cars, the words of one teacher suddenly came back to him.

Are you sure you know how many sons you have?

Yes… It seemed he'd only ever had one.

A/N: Now I do love John and I'm not saying he's a bad father in the series, this is just my take on how things could have rolled out during the boys childhood - plus I love the whole Dean being Sam's parent/brother carer guy :)

July 2014 A/N: I have published another much longer one-shot which shows moments of the boys child-hood looking at how the boys parent/brother relationship evolved due to the actions Dean made...

Summary - Being someone's parent comes down to the sacrifices you're willing to take - and being someone's kid to whose final order you take... and Sam had always been Dean's kid

If you liked this fic I thought you might want to check that one out as well :)

Thank you for reading, please review :)