Rating: PG - Gen - Wee!Chesters - John
Disclaimers: SPN & characters are owned by their various creators.
Summary: Dean and Sam end up in a tree the hard way.
John knew that when he signed the paper on the dotted line that it wasn't always going to be easy.
He had had no delusions about it even if he had been at the time, a relatively young man. To this very day, he very distinctly could remember a moment that he spent with a friend of his so very long ago. They were having a few beers on a porch. Nice night if he recalled correctly. But most nights were when you were in your twenties and just started pulling enough of a salary to start thinking about making a down payment on your very first house. It had just rained and it had cooled off one of those stifling June evenings.
John had something burning on his mind that he had wanted to share.
It was news you shared with only a few people just because there was still a lot of time for things to go wrong. His friend with the beer wasn't exactly the type of person that John really thought of when he thought of the closed circle of family and the trusted. Maybe it was the beer. Maybe it was just his good mood. Whatever it had been, John had gone ahead and told him anyway.
He remembered the low whistle and the sharp clap on his shoulder.
Congrats there John! Boy or a girl?
John hadn't known then. It had been too early. But he always remembered what the man beside him had said next.
Hope its a girl for your sake. I got three boys and they're killing me.
John had wondered what exactly the weary and tired sentiment had actually meant at the time. There was no doubt that the man loved his children but the exhaustion in his voice had shifted and stayed in his eyes even after he had gotten back to smiling.
He had never said so, but privately, John had hoped for a boy anyway. Girls were the ones that seemed like trouble. If his knowledge of women was any indication, smaller versions of the same couldn't be any easier to figure out. And they grew up. And then they probably would want to start dating and leaving the house.
John hadn't been sure if he would be able to handle that.
But as it turned out, John ended up never having to contemplate living out that awkward and terrifying scenario. The next vivid moment that involved the gender of his children occurred several years later. He was standing in a room looking at the blob on the ultrasound that the nurse was telling him was his second kid. John had the rather distinct memory of the announcement that the second go around would be a boy too. The doctor had been smiling. John had tried to smile back.
It was about then that John kind of felt he finally understood his old friend's tired look back on that porch.
His first born had then and only just recently barely stopped trying to kill himself on every available corner, stair, surface and sharp object available. And if there was nothing available he could quickly search out, with a skill John could not comprehend, something else to maim himself on. It was like being on a 24 hour suicide watch for the past 24 months. Looking at the content slumbering blob on the monitor, he knew it was just waiting to arrive and reign its terror on him and start the process all over again.
And contrary to its seemingly monochromed innocence, the blob ended up doing just that.
Fussy Ones. Terrible Twos. Rampaging Threes. The years went on and on, each one being equally traumatic as far as John was concerned.
But time had gone by and somehow, despite themselves, his children were still alive. However, with just a few extra years to add to their mobility, their level of self situated peril hadn't declined, it had just gotten more sophisticated.
This year his former peaceful blob turned six and the eldest had finally hit the double digits. And for some reason with the cosmic ratchet that upped their ages, a whole new hell had broken loose. Instead of electric sockets and forks, there were empty beer bottles and cinder blocks. There was no longer a sobbing child with his head stuck between the railings of the stair banister (for the third time that week), but instead there was a small apocalypse after an attempt to make napalm from pilfered lawnmower fuel and vaseline. The menace of a stone mantled fireplace that had earned both his boys stitches had been replaced by bicycles and home made plywood ramps that emptied over a pond.
Today his sons exceeded all previous accomplishments.
In a way he was almost proud of the looks he was getting from the small crowd of people that had gathered. He knew most of them had children too but still seemed to find this situation particularly alarming. It was like his boys were some kind of special over achievers.
John looked down and covered his mouth to give the appearance of outrage instead of letting anyone see he was actually trying hard not to laugh out loud like he really wanted to. Some over achievers all right. Kind of retarded ones, but who's fault was that? Sometimes the apples don't fall far from the tree.
Speaking of trees...
"We saw it on TV." His oldest explained from far above.
He couldn't help smiling now. There was no stopping it. Even if it was in full view of the sons that should be wondering how big of a smack they were going to get on the backside.
"You saw someone get stuck in a tree wearing garbage bags on TV?"
"It's an ultralight!" His youngest protested from somewhere amongst the wreckage.
Well, in full view of one of his sons. All he could see of the six year old were his legs. The entire mess was wedged firmly between two large branches of a giant oak that sat a few feet from a neighboring roof top.
"An ultralight." John repeated to himself.
Now that the mass of black plastic and struggling limbs was identified, he could now see that some attempt at a wooden frame had been involved in its composition. They had really put some thought into this one.
"We woulda been fine!" The eldest insisted. "If it weren't for this stupid tree..."
That tree was probably the only reason the both of them weren't looking forward to being in traction for the next six months.
The woman's whose house was the one that had been used as a launch site was standing nervously beside him.
"M-Maybe we should call the fire department?"
John shook his head and reestablished his stern demeanor for her sake.
"No no, I'll just uh, need a ladder."
"A-are you sure?"
"Yeah, I'll take care of it-- But um, hey, justa second?"
She paused, clutching the velour belt of her flowered house robe.
"You don't happen to have a garden hose do ya?"
"Oh, yes? Why?"
"I'll be needing that first."