Hands Off

Summary: Threatening his boys? Bad idea. Hitting them? Even worse. Sexually assault? One killing-machine named John Winchester coming up. Enjoy your trip down to hell. Pre-series, mentions of attempted sexual assault.

Pairing/s: None.

Warnings: Attempted sexual assault on a minor, good John's close enough to kick ass.

Disclaimers: I don't own Supernatural.

-o-

John Winchester knew people could be just as bad as monsters and demons but never in his life did he think this would happen.

It had started as a normal job in a pissy little town in the middle of nowhere with one motel, a couple of stores on the verge of bankruptcy, a small mall, a school and a rundown library. Possibly vengeful spirit. He had dug up whatever he found at the library, made sure his kids got to school okay, and that they trained. Thirteen-year old Dean had an advantage to Sam who had begun less than a year ago but that was fine for John; Sam was a fast learner.

It turned out to be a salt-and-burn, and he went to the cemetery outside town alone, leaving Dean in charge to get Sam home safely and buy them dinner. It was little risk of getting detected digging up a grave there, even in broad daylight. Hell, he could probably have started with a funeral going on next to him and no one would have paid much attention. God, he wanted away from the place already.

So when John got back, sore but pleased with one less evil spirit on earth, all he wanted was some dinner, make sure the kids had done their homework, let Sam try cleaning one of the guns, relax for the weekend before going to a bigger place, and a new job. They had only been there for a week but he didn't think even Sam would complain about leaving school and enrol in a new.

Stepping out of the car, he noticed the lights were out in the apartment. So they were still out shopping. He had to wait for them then; Dean had the only key, and he had just leaned against the car when he heard a cry.

Sam's cry.

And he was calling for help.

John didn't even grab an extra gun before he was running towards the sound.

-o-

They had just gone to get some dinner. Hell, it was still a light outside, and people could walk by! What the hell was wrong with this guy?

Dean struggled to get away, Sam having already escaped and been told to get someone, Dean could hear him scream in a distance, and the thirteen-year old tried to kick himself loose to no avail. The sour alcoholic smell on the man's breath told Dean everything and more than he wanted to know, and there was a hand touching him in a way he never wanted to be touched. If he had a gun he would have shot the guy's brains out, then one more for good measurement.

The hand had already unbuttoned his jeans and dragged them down, past his hips (he touched them, fucking hell he stroke them) when the body above him was slung aside by a powerful kick.

"Hands off my son!" Rage, fear and determination mixed into a single voice. Then, strong, big hands around Dean's waist hauling him up and he was suddenly being cradled by Dad. All dad, the leather, the smoke from the last burned corpse, the cologne, everything was just Dad and Dean let out a wail he didn't know he had been holding in. Then he was put on his feet again, his jeans pulled up and John's voice:

"Dean, go to your brother. Stay with him and don't look."

He heard the drunk man whimper but then he ran to Sam and held him close. When he heard the man starting to plead and the hits increase, he covered Sam's ears and pressed his little brother's face into his chest, and tried to ignore it all.

-o-

John was in a rage. All he saw was red. As he had rounded the corner, Sam running behind him, crying his eyes out, he had seen the sight and a growl had risen from his throat.

His first born son, his son, his Dean on his stomach, jeans pushed down, skin revealed and a big guy on top of him, clearly drunk, feeling him up. That man was going down. John was going to fucking rip him apart.

The kick had felt good, and sent the guy flying. No matter how big you were, when you were faced with John Winchester in full protective and anger-mood, you just simply didn't stand a chance. The guy landed, something definitely cracked but John was already hauling Dean up, hurrying to give the boy back some dignity and sent him to his little brother. There were tears on the boy's face, lower lip quivering but he was bobbing his head before gratefully leaving the alley. John then focused on his victim.

Another kick had him turned upwards, and wide eyes stared at the enraged face of John Winchester.

"You thought that was fun, huh?" John dug his heel down, heard the man howl. That felt really nice to do. Again. "You thought my son would like that?"

"No man, please, stop, please, I'm sorry…" the man on the ground gurgled, babbled, hands raised as if to shield himself but John wasn't going to let him go that easily.

"I don't care if you're fucking sorry, you tried to hurt my boy and no one gets away with that!"

John wasn't sure how long it lasted, his rage. When it stopped he looked down at the poor excuse for a man. He got a grip on the bloody collar and nearly lifted the guy straight up. He only heard a whimper.

"If I knew how to, I would send you to hell right now," he hissed. "Feel lucky you're still here on earth, you little shit."

He tossed the guy aside, feeling his sore arms and not caring. Then he went back to his boys.

-o-

Dean never thought the hits would end, his father's screams, and he really wanted to get him here, the teen didn't care about the drunk man anymore, he just wanted his father to come and that they could leave.

As if hearing his thoughts, there was a last hit, then steps, then John was back with them, lifting Sam like he weighed nothing, having Dean pressed to his side and his knuckles were awfully bloody and Dean really wanted to go to sleep and forget it all.

-o-

They moved out of the apartment in less than five minutes, John making calls to the school, babbling something about an emergency and actually convinced the principle to drop out the kids from the school as they spoke. He had no idea where they would go next but figured either Pastor Jim or Bobby to give the boys some sense of security.

Before they even left town Dean was asleep in the backseat with Sam pressed up against him. John watched them every now and then, how Sam played with the hem of his brother's shirt, head resting on Dean's chest and eyes wide open. Dean looked exhausted.

John regretted not blowing the man's brains out. There was no way he'd let his kids out of his sight for a long time now. And definitely not letting Dean close to any drunk guys. Touchy-feeling as they might be, they're not putting a hand on his kid. And if they dared, he didn't care if Dean was thirteen or thirty-five, if someone even dared to do it without Dean wanting it, he would actually find a way to send the fuckers down to hell.

End


Just a short random-thing, inspired from a short one-shot I read earlier.

Until another time,

Ja,

Tiro