Characters: John, Dean, Sam (Gen, Drabbles)
Summary: 3x100 drabbles on “Fathers And Sons” for supernatural100.
He came of age in a divided country, his name a number in a system that ran of its own accord.
He was powerless to change it. He could face the inevitable, or run. But there was no running in his blood—he came from survivors, from people who stood their ground.
“You can wait for it, or step up to meet it,” his father said. Right or wrong was not the question—it was duty, and his country was calling.
John stood up, every ghost of his history marching behind him. Second thoughts were a luxury he didn’t have.
The air conditioner was broken again, and a pinging sound echoed through the dashboard.
Please let us make it to Salt Lake, John thought, as the bickering bounced around the car.
“Am not!” “Are too!” “I know you are, but what am I?” “I know you are but what am I, nyahnyahnyahnyah-nyah-nyah?”
“Boys!” John’s voice surprised himself.
“He started it!”
John breathed deeply, invoking the wisdom of Solomon: “The winner of this argument gets to ride in the back seat. For a month.”
Sam sputtered. Dean fell silent.
And in the blissful, burgeoning quiet, the engine ping rose up again…
“See, Daddy? See?” Dean pointed to the can he’d shot off the fence.
“Nice work.” John patted Dean’s arm and looked for Sam, who was poking the grass with a stick.
“Sammy? It’s your turn now.”
His son barely acknowledged his words. Sam had bugs and rocks, and ideas in his head.
“Sam,” John said firmly.
“Don’t wanna.” Sam got down and peered into a hole.
Sam shook his head stubbornly, unmoving.
John strode over. Sam would do his target practice.
Dean’s shoulders sagged as the drama played on. Already forgotten, as usual. He was the perfect, invisible son.
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