Supernatural Fan Fiction ❯ Out of the Mouths of Babes ❯ In Which John Talks A Lot ( Chapter 6 )

[ P - Pre-Teen ]

Chapter 6
 
Things were…different here.
 
That was only to be expected, Ryuji supposed. After all, this was literally a whole new world. Of course things would be different.
 
But what Ryuji hadn't expected was that he would like any of the differences. He'd been so sure that he was making a sacrifice, coming to the human city of Baltimore. He'd been so sure that he'd hate it here without reservation.
 
But now—well, now he knew differently. Now that he'd discovered take-out, and science fiction novels, and movies, and, most wonderful of all, classic rock music, he wasn't so sure that Elves were a terribly advanced race, after all. OH, certainly, the Elves had a world of bright colors, and the human cities were, for the most part, gray and terribly depressing. And maybe the Elves had buildings of elegantly sculpted and perfectly detailed design, but humans had buildings that seemed to touch the very sky and could house hundreds—thousands—of people at once.
 
And…well, classic rock music. Ryuji was fairly certain that classic rock music set humans far above any other race.
 
Oddly enough, it was that pronouncement, made on Dean's eleventh birthday when he received three such CDs, that made Dean stop treating him like the worst kind of enemy. Oh, they had a long way to go before what they had could be called friendship, but at least Dean acknowledged his presence without open animosity now.
 
And if Dean's attitude toward him were somewhat colder than desired, Sam's more than made up for it. His presence was a thing that was constantly bubbly and excited, and he was forever fumbling over his attempts to make both his brother and his new friend play with him. It was obvious what he was trying to do, but he was doing it in such an adorable way tat no one—not even John—who prided himself on a firm hand—had the heart to explain things for him.
 
As for John—well, he was…John. Ryuji was already coming to understand that John couldn't be read—at all, ever. He kept his feelings closed off behind a solid steel wall, and only very rarely did he open the gate. So Ryuji really had no idea what Jon thought of him, and he had no real hope of finding out. But he hadn't been kicked out of the house yet, so he didn't mind—too much.
 
So, this was the way things stood now. Of the three Winchesters, one adored him, one had barely reached the point of tolerating him, and one seemed entirely impassive toward him.
 
Now, with this state of affairs, it would have been perfectly understandable for Ryuji to want to go home.
 
So…why did he not mind tat that probably wouldn't happen for a while? Maybe…a long while?
 
Why didn't he mind that at all?
 
XXX
 
“Ryuji, can I talk to you for a minute?”
 
Ryuji looked up from the journal—he'd taken over the drawings of late—and put down his pencils. “Is something wrong?”
 
John shook his head and sat down at the foot of the bed. “Not exactly. I just…want to talk to you for a minute.”
 
Ryuji slowly closed the journal and laid it aside completely, to show that he was paying attention. “Yes?”
 
John took a breath. “Okay. Remember the night you came here from the cemetery?”
 
“Of course.”
 
“Well, then you remember that I was…surprised…to find you. And for some reason, I wanted to bring you back here with me. I had no idea that you'd actually been looking for me—I just wanted to help you out. And I didn't ask any questions, which is—out of character, for me.”
 
“And…what questions do you have now?” Ryuji asked cautiously. I thought I'd explained it all.
 
“It's just…I need to know your plans, kid.”
 
“My plans?” Ryuji echoed. “I've carried out my plan. I've found you.”
 
John stared at him for a moment, then chuckled. “Wow. You really are just a kid.”
 
“I never pretended I wasn't,” Ryuji replied, puzzled.
 
“No, no, I know, it's just…never mind. So…you really have no idea how long you're going to stay?”
 
“I know exactly how long I play to stay, actually—as long as you'll allow me to. I…have nothing to go back to, you see.”
 
John was quiet for a moment, studying him, and his stern face softened a little. “No, I guess you don't.”
 
They were both silent for a moment, and then John slapped his knee. “All right, I guess I'll…factor you into my plans for a while, then,” he said, pushing himself to his feet.
 
“Sir?” Ryuji asked, and John turned at the door, looking surprised but pleased with the label, even though it had been what Ryuji called all his male elders back home.
 
“Yes, Ryuji?”
 
“I…where I come from, children begin training to fight at the age of ten. But…well, as it stands, I didn't have a chance to begin my training the Elven way. Still, I need to know how to fight if I want to be any help to you beyond this book.”
 
John was smiling now. “Ah. I see. You want me to teach you.”
 
Ryuji nodded hesitantly, and John's smile widened.
 
“You'll come with Dean and I, then. Tomorrow.”
 
And he was gone before Ryuji could thank him.
 
XXX
 
“No, you can't move backward, Sammy!” Dean said, firmly moving Sam's little black circle back to its original square. “You're not Kinged yet, it's against the rules.”
 
“Nuh-uh!” Sam replied, moving the circle again. “You just don't want me to win!”
 
“Kid, you couldn't win this if you talked to a genie. You only have one piece left!”
 
“I could still win,” Sam said sullenly, crossing his arms and glaring in a way that really only ended up being adorable.
 
It was this, perhaps, that made Dean grin and scoot around to the checkerboard to sit next to Sam. “You're impossible,” he said affectionately, and then he pulled his brother into his lap and visited upon him the ultimate punishment for said impossibility.
 
“DEAN! Stop it! No! Ahh! It tickles, it tickles, it tickles! Waaahhh!”
 
John, who had, of course, been watching the whole time, chose this moment to step into the room, chuckling. “Now, Dean, isn't that just a little extreme?”
 
Sam's giggles subsided, and he twisted out of Dean's lap and grinned. “Hi, Daddy.”
 
“Hey, kiddo. Dean mistreating you again?”
 
“Yeah, Daddy!” Sam replied, obviously having no idea what “mistreating” meant. “Make `im stop!”
 
Dean rolled his eyes and poked a finger at Sam's side, and Sam squealed with laughter again.
 
John crouched in front of them and said, “Well, do you think you could pick this up later? I want to talk to Dean for a minute.”
 
Sam's eyes widened. “Is he in trouble?” he asked in a perfectly audible whisper.
 
“Nah. I just need to talk to him. Why don't you go bug Ryuji for a while?”
 
“I don't bug him!” Sam protested indignantly, and then he leapt to his feet and scampered from the room.
 
“What's up, Dad?” Dean asked as Sam disappeared.
 
John shrugged. “Nothing much. I was just going to ask if you wanted to practice tomorrow.”
 
Dean grinned instantly, going from worried to happy. “Awesome.”
 
“Well, good. After breakfast, then. Oh, yeah, and Ryuji'll be practicing with us,” John added casually, and as he watched, Dean's face fell.
 
“Oh. Why?”
 
“Because,” John said, still watching his son, “he needs to learn to shoot if he's going to be of any more use to us than as a writer, and you need to get over whatever you have against him.”
 
“I don't have anything against him,” Dean said, too quickly.
 
“Dean.” That was all—just that one word—but Dean wilted instantly.
 
“Dad, how long is he staying here?”
 
“He says he'd like to stay as long as we'll let him,” John replied. He searched Dean's face until his son met his eyes, and then said, “So the question is, how long will we let him?”
 
Dean looked down at the checkerboard without answering, and when it became obvious that he didn't plan to anytime soon, John sighed and stood up.
 
“All right, well, tomorrow, then.”
 
“Yeah,” Dean said. “Okay.”
 
“Okay,” John repeated, heading for the kitchen. “Oh, and Dean?” he added as he reached it.
 
“Yeah, Dad?”
 
“Ryuji isn't trying to steal your brother. All he's trying to do is make a friend. He's lost everything, you know—his home, his life, his family. He lost his mother. Just like you. You might want to think about that.”
 
XXX
 
Ryuji held the gun with the very tips of his fingers, as if it was made of pure acid or cyanide. “What if it goes off when I don't want it to?”
 
John smiled a little at his pose. “Well, that's why you're careful with it.”
 
Ryuji stared at him. “That's all? You have no reassurances for me at all?”
 
“Well, it's true that guns are dangerous. I'm not going to try to hide that. But a lot of that danger comes from people who didn't know how to use them.”
 
I don't know how to use then,” Ryuji reminded him, still holding the gun like he expected it to detonate at any second. “I'm not sure I want to anymore.”
 
John didn't seem surprised by that, or impatient about it. He just looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, “You know, before I ever learned to shoot a gun, I had to take one apart and put it back together something like seventy-two times, and you know what? I haven't been afraid of them since—because I knew how they worked. See, Ryuji, once you know something inside and out—no matter how deadly—you can see it as nothing more than what it is—a tool.”
 
Ryuji looked skeptical, and John smiled and said, “Here, let me show you.”
 
He took the gun, and his hands began to speed over it, until it was in pieces that never looked like they could fit together.
 
“Now,” he said when he was finished. “See if you can put it back together.”
 
“But…I…I can't…what?” Ryuji spluttered in a manner that would have shamed any Elf, if another one was around.
 
“Go ahead. Just try it. It's okay if you can't the first time.”
 
So, Ryuji hesitantly crouched next to the pieces, and sat studying them for almost ten minutes. Then, finally, he reached out to touch one, resisting the urge to close his eyes.
 
A hand touched his wrist before he could brush it over the gun part. It didn't apply any pressure, just rested there, and Ryuji looked up to meet Dean's eyes.
 
“Not that one,” Dean said. “That's one of the last.”
 
“…Oh,” was all Ryuji could really think to say. He turned his attention back to the parts and studied some more, and was quite ready to burst into tears and pronounce himself stupid when Dean touched him again, on the shoulder this time.
 
“Here,” the boy said quietly. “Let me show you.”
 
Ryuji stared at him, a thousand questions racing through his mind. But in the end, he didn't utter any of them.
 
“Thanks.”
 
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Author's Note: If I got anything wrong in the end there, I'm sorry, but I know nothing about guns. I don't want to know anything about guns, even for the sake of literary accuracy, and believe me, that's saying something.
 
Well, anyways. Wow. Three chapters in as many weeks, I think. I am probably condemning my muse to death here. Oh, what I will do for you, Mandy...
 
Well, okay, I just couldn't stop writing. But I'd rather blame you than myself.