Author: Kat Lee
Character/Pairing: John, wee!Chesters
Challenge/Prompt: spn_bigpretzel DEW: John + United States of America
Warning(s): This went way over, sorry, and may not be considered that happy, but I think the ending will still make it fit this lovely comm. And after pulling a 12 hour shift today, I just don't have the energy or mind to be able to give it another go.
Word Count: 358
Date Written: 8 July 2018
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Kripke, not the author, and are used without permission.
John smiled as he watched his youngest son running around and swooping his toy airplane through the air. It was just a simple toy his big brother had crafted for him out of paper, but to little Sammy, it seemed to hold and the world and his aspirations for it. Spotting his father watching him, the boy stopped running, tucked the toy behind his back, and looked shyly up at John. “Daddy,” he said slowly, thoughtfully, “I know what I wanna be when I grow up.”
“What’s that, Sammy?” John asked, grinning and already knowing the answer.
“I wanna be an airplane pilot. Can I be, Daddy? Can I please?”
“Of course you can, son. This is the United States of America. You can be anything you darn well please.” His father had told him the same thing once, John remembered, but it hadn’t worked out for him, or for Dean. But it would for Sammy, he vowed. He was fighting every night to do more than avenge their mothers’ death. He was fighting for these boys’ future, and he’d be damned if he’d let it be taken from them or Sammy’s be hampered in any way. It was bad enough Dean was going to have to grow up to be like him to keep protecting his little brother.
“Yay!” Sammy zipped away with his airplane taking to the air again.
John turned to find Dean watching him. “Did you mean that?” he asked softly.
“‘Course I did,” John answered, more gruffly than he intended.
“Then can I -- ?”
“Son, I’m sorry,” the tired, aging man said as softly as he could, “but your future’s already set. Someone’s gotta take care of Sammy.”
Dean fell silent. Together, they watched Sammy running in circles and carrying his airplane through loops and flips. After a while, Dean shrugged and said, “There’s nothing else I’d rather be anyway.”
“Than what?” John asked, frowning down at him. “An airplane pilot?”
“No.” Dean smiled. “That’s Sammy’s dream -- for now. There’s nothing I’d rather be,” he admitted, returning to watching his little brother, “than your son and Sammy’s brother.”
John beamed; he’d never been prouder.