babybrotherdean:

John isn’t allowed to be soft anymore. Not since Mary died and he was thrown into this world of silver and iron and blood; not since he was left with two little boys to raise and to protect against the things that hide in the dark. Softness is weakness, so he sharpens all of his edges and makes sure that he doesn’t have any left. No softness. No weakness. Nothing that can be used against him or taken away.

(Nothing except his boys. They’d be so much better off somewhere else, with someone else, but god, he can’t let them go.)

It gets easier over time, anyways. To be nothing but hard edges. Seeing death day in and day out will do that to a man; he’s aged so much more than the twenty years that have passed, seen so much more than any man should have to. He’s rough and he keeps to himself and he gets the job done, because that’s all that matters anymore and that’s what he clings to. That’s what gets him up in the mornings.

Except.

Except that there’s also Dean.

Sam has left them behind already, chasing a dream of a better life, and as much as it still stings- as much as the screaming match still echoes in his head when it gets too quiet- John just hopes that he’s safe. They visit, sometimes, watch from a distance, and Sam seems happy. Sam seems like he’s doing okay, all by himself, but Dean- Dean’s still here. John doesn’t think that Dean is ever going to leave his side (selfish, he’s so fucking selfish for that to be a relief), and Dean- Dean.

Somehow, despite everything, Dean is still soft.

He gets the job done just fine. In fact, he’s a damn good hunter; John’s taught him everything he knows, and Dean’s always been a quick learner. He knows the lore, he’s a good fighter, and he can manage himself just as well as he can follow orders. But- but there are other things, too, like the way he talks to scared kids when they’re on the job, or how good he is at getting people to trust him. Or the way he lights up over the little things, like a good burger or a pretty waitress, or how he still looks at John like he’s hung the fucking moon-

Dean is still soft the way John’s forgotten how to be, and all John cares about some days is keeping him that way forever.

“Dad?” Dean asks him when he walks into the room one day, and John’s bent over his journal, carefully detailing the hunt they’ve just finished up. Dean’s found himself a job in town, too, a gig at a diner for a few extra bucks, and he’s still in uniform when John looks up. Dean’s eyes are fixed on the small table tucked away in the corner, and that’s where he’s headed, too. “What’re these for?”

John already knows what he’s talking about, but glances over anyways, taking a slow breath. The flowers had been an impulse decision, and maybe a stupid one- they’re damn expensive, and they don’t really have the money to spare- but there’s something about them that had caught hit eye. They used to make him think about Mary, but now…

“Just thought they’d brighten up the room.” He shrugs, like it doesn’t matter, and watches too closely as Dean approaches them, fingertips brushing delicate petals. “No big deal.”

He’s all caught up in the way that Dean touches the flowers, like they’re fragile and precious and will shatter on contact. Quietly, it’s exactly the same way that John thinks about Dean. “Huh. Alright.” A pause, and then Dean looks over towards him, smiling, and John holds his breath. “Never took you for an interior designer, Dad.”

John cracks a smile because he can’t help himself, and because seeing Dean in good spirits is… it’s good. It makes him happy to know he played a part in it. “Yeah, well. I won’t quit my day job quite yet.”

Dean laughs, and he eventually sits down across from John and asks what they’re going to have for dinner. John clings to the smile on his son’s face and the warm way that it makes him feel, and promises himself- not for the first time- that he’ll do everything in his power to preserve that.

He can’t allow himself to be soft anymore, but hell if he’s going to let Dean go the same way.

77/365