Regret

(November, 1986.)

A small cabin in 20th century Michigan that could barely hold the one bathroom and cramped living room it held sat in the quietness of the deep, snow blanketed woods. A silhouette loomed over the cabin door, followed by a black gloved hand that silently twisted the knob, and the tall shadow stepped inside and placed his winter coat on the wooden floor.

In the left corner are two children, boys. They are sleeping under the only window of the cabin, the smaller boy leaned on the bigger one. Moonlight streamed from the window onto their faces. If it wasn't for the .45 in the palm of the older boy, the sight could have at least had a chance of looking normal.
Mr Winchester slowly walked over to his son, attentive not to stir the two. Besides that they were very young children who needed their sleep, they had deserved it; a few hours before they had finished exorcising a level C demon, an upgrade from their usual hunting level.

John had been proud of them in their moment of "leveling up", as the Super Mario Bros. obsessed Dean called it, but he couldn't stop the twist in his chest he felt when he saw them sleeping before him. What was said exactly about the sleeping face? Something about regaining any lost childlike innocence?
John held back a sad frown and traded it for furrowed eyebrows. The boys were still young. He could stop this all and give up his hunting craze, give them a normal life with school and friends. Directly afterwards he shook his face quickly, frustrated with himself. This was easily the 12th time this week, fighting back and forth on what he decided to do with his children. As much as he wished it, a normal life would not only not be possible for them but could possibly be the death of them. There was no way he could let that happen, not after what he had witnessed 4 years prior.

But, he could at least make the boys more comfortable. He went back, grabbed his heavy coat and gently covered it over the boys' slumped bodies. On an afterthought, he reached to take the gun away.

A half second after John's fingertips brushed the gun, his eyes were met with the fierce greenish of Dean's, and the gun whipped from his reach and shoved right on his nose. Another second later, he had to use all his bodily energy to move to the left as the bullet short across the room. John had barely scrambled to his feet before he yelled "STOP!!!" at Dean while he held his hands to the ceiling.

Dean didn't say anything and kept his glare and gun locked in his direction, his freed right arm placed firmly across his brother's body. Sam peeked behind his arm, crying silently from terror - something that he was trained to do a year earlier for safety precautions.

"Dean," John panted. "It's me, Dean, it's me."

The gun didn't budge, but Dean's lips did. "You're going to do more than that." He spat, eyes on fire.

"Dean-" John set his shoulders down for a moment which was a mistake, because Dean clutched the trigger even closer. He quickly held them up again. "I only left to get some supplies, remember? We can go to check the trunk if you want to make sure."

"And you get the upper hand?" He replied. Dean's eyes slanted and he put a tighter grip on his brother. "Telling me what you did isn't anything, Shapeshifters can steal the memories of other people. My old man told me and he tells no lies."

John was more scared of his own son than proud of how effective his teachings had done to his son. But nonetheless, some of it was still there. Before he got too caught up in his feelings, he nodded and spoke, "Okay okay, I'm keeping my hands up alright? I'm coming forward." He came towards Dean and Sam squatted, and walked on the tips of his shoes so he could get into the moonlight.

"What?" Dean hissed. Sam had his hands dug into his arm by this point, his big sad eyes sparkling from the flow of tears.

Hands still raised, John slowly moved his neck to the left. "Here. Look Dean, look right there, on my neck."

To make sure he wasn't getting distracted from the gun, Dean shoved the tip of it right to John's heart and and looked closely at his neck. There in the moonlight glistened a puffy crescent shaped scab. Unlike what most would assume, he didn't get the scab while hunting but while playing with some friends as a child in his backyard woods. A sharp branch snagged him and it never fully healed for whatever reasons, so it would be infected or get itchy from time to time.

But what the important matter here was not the scar's history, but the fact of the scar's existence; while Shapeshifters can gain memories from the people they imitate, they cannot replicate scars or injuries.

Dean's shoulders collapsed and he fell back with a deep gasp of relief. He laughed shortly and took his brother into his lap. "Aw, it's okay Sammy." He said softly as he dotted his tears away with his shirt. "It's really Dad. Don't worry. It's okay, it's okay." He rocked him gently and smoothed Sam's hair and put his cheek on the top of his head. When he calmed down he set him down and leapt into John's arms.

"I almost killed you Dad! I'm sorry." His grasp got tighter and he buried his face deeper.

John ruffled his hair and laughed. "No way anyone's killing me, not even my own soldier I trained myself. You just caught me a little off guard, that's all. Just a little."

Dean unburied his face and looked him in the eyes. "Really?" He asked carefully.

He nodded and gave him one more hug, then let go. "Yes. And I'm proud of you son, If i was anyone else, I'd be up against that wall riddled with bullets." He smiled.

Dean grinned shyly and crawled out his lap and stood up and stretched. "So, what are we doing now? Another road trip for a case?"

John stood as well. "Oh, no, nothing like that. You see you weren't even supposed to be awake. All I wanted was to take that gun off your hands, at least for tonight."

"Oh? Well in that case-" Dean leaned over and picked up the .45er. "Here you go." Just as John put it in his belt he asked, "So we can go to sleep now right?"

John thought back on how fast this gun in his hand was pointed right at his nose. "Of course, but Dean, let me ask you a question. You two were asleep before all this right?"

Dean had seen that coat that he had unconsciously thrown off when he attacked their father and adjusted it on himself and Sam and looked up at him. "Yes sir, right when you left to get the supplies."

John mentally whistled to himself. He'd been gone three hours. To have that sort of reaction speed....Power soldier indeed.

"Why?"

"No reason. You guys just focus on getting back to sleep. I'll just be in this corner."

"Dad?"

"What is it?"

"Do you want to be over here with us to get warm?"

John hadn't thought of it until that moment, but it was only 3am and the night would definitely promise to be much colder as time went on. "Yeah, thanks son."

As his two sons leaned into him and and swiftly fell asleep, John went over what just happened a few moments before once again. Clearly, it wouldn't be long before Dean would "level up" with his brother again. Yet another step away from being "normal". He moved closer into his large coat and sighed to himself. He was so sorry about it, but this was how their lives were going to be until they died. Looking over their shoulders as well for each others', not even trusting the sight of their own father. He would always regret what he did with his sons, but he knew it was the right choice nonetheless, he thought to himself before nodding off. He would have to keep telling himself that for 10 more years before he had to harden himself to that feeling ever again.