Actions speak louder
Chapter 15 (Epilog)
Summary: Sam meant what he said the asylum. So how can he ever convince the one person in his life that knows him better than anyone, otherwise?
Rating: PG13, T
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way shape or form, and I don't get any money for this, this is purely entertainment…hopefully:)
AN: Thank you so much to everyone for reading. I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I've enjoyed writing it--because it has been so much fun. With this chapter, I conclude my first Supernatural FanFic:) yeah! I hope you'll join me for the sequel.
Special thanks to:
Spuffyshipper, Fleur, CrazyDisaster, jill, anna, lightningboltz, Sabrina, Dawn N, Rachael, m, snchills, sarah, kay, v, Phx, Cyn, and ..., all who I hadn't gotten the opportunity to say a personal thank you—either because of anonymous, or my email just being plain screwy.
An hour later, Missouri laid in her bed, tossing and turning with a restless sleep. The boys in the next room had long since quieted down as their own exhaustion finally hit them. Thinking of them inevitably led to thinking of their father. And with that, the last conversation she had with him in the hospital corridor just after Sam had awoken. It played out in her mind relentlessly, and the psychic new she'd get no sleep tonight.
"John, what is wrong with you? You need to go in there and talk to your son!"
"No, I can't Missy. I can't face him right now. Not after everything. Besides, he's going to be fine. The last thing he needs right now is me going in there upsetting him like I always do. And weren't you the one who told me that he's got more than a little bit of resentment for me?"
"You're just afraid," she reasoned.
"You're damned right, I am. I almost lost him. He is too sick for me to go in there risking another fight with him." At her disapproving glare, he lowered his head and tried to rationalize his decision further. "He doesn't need me right now. He's got Dean. They'll take care of each other, just like I taught them, while I get back out there and take care of the dem—I mean, our other problem."
"I don't understand you, John. The three of you are stronger as a family. You need to stick together, now more than ever. The boys are old enough to understand, and to help. Stop being so damned stubborn and tell them"
"NO! Absolutely not. At least not yet. They are not ready. So until they are, I can't be with them. No, we stick to the original plan. As soon as Sammy is well enough to walk, get them out of here Missy."
"John", she pleaded.
"I'm doing what I have to do."
"That was before. But things are changing now, John. I feel it. It's all getting closer. You've got to tell them before they find out on their own. How do you think they're going to react when they realize that you've been hiding things from them—essentially lying to them for most of their lives?"
John threw his hands on his hips, the swagger and smug grin that crept up onto his features clearly showed where Dean got it from. "Probably about the same as when they realize that it was you and good old Pastor Jimmy that told me to ditch them in the first place."
"Come back here! Those boys need you!" He kept walking, finally earningthe worst of her anger and she yelledloud enough to wake the dead. "COWARD!" she called after him, ignoring the hospital staff staring as she did so.
Laying in bed stiffly now, the woman said a silent prayer that whatever the man was out there doing, he wouldn't end up hurting his boys more in the process...
Many hours and several states away from leaving his sons in the hospital, John stumbled in from the bar, whiskey in one hand, the well worn picture of his two boys in the other. The hollow sounding voice forced the ex-marine back to alertness. The alcohol clearly not dulling his senses too far, he surprised even the demon that approached when he replaced the bottle with his .45 and had it pinned to the hood of his truck in mere seconds.
The black, soulless eyes blinked at him for moment in surprise before it eased back into a confident smirk. Taunting John with a stranger's face.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't John Winchester. You and those boys dropped off the map for a while there, Johnny. But you know those protection charms can't last."
The demon smiled as he nodded to the picture that John had slipped into his shirt pocket. "That our boys there? How sweet. Though a doting father, you're not."
"Don't you worry about it," the father hissed. "And they're not our boys. They're my boys, when I send you back to hell, you make sure you tell your boss to stay away from them. Else, I've got a few new tricks that he's not gonna' like."
The low-level demon tried to gauge John's expression to see if he was bluffing or not. He couldn't tell, so he pushed the thought to the back of his mind and continued baiting him. He laughed haughtily, not bothered in the slightest by the imprint of the barrel on his temple. "When are you going to get it through your thick skull, Johnny-boy? You can't hide them from him forever."
John returned the amused expression as he answered coldly, "No, not forever. Just long enough…" He didn't even blink as he fired at point blank range, the blood splattering onto his cheek while the body slid to the ground. He watched disinterestedly as the black mist seeped back into a crack on the pavement. Bending down, he whispered a silent prayer for the soul of the man he had just released from a prison in his own body.
He was glad that no one had come running with the sound of the gunshot, and the eldest Winchester climbed into his truck and took a moment to check that the photo was still with him. In his shirt pocket, close to his heart. He pulled it out one more time, smiling at the dual grins of both his sons and he wished he could make them understand.
"I've never been much for words boys, but someday I hope you understand that everything I've done has been for you. Someday, you'll realize that actions speak louder."