dean jr. who's always known his dad's a little... different, than most of his friend's dads.
his dad, who volunteered to billet a different student from the local college's theology or history department in the guest bedroom every year since dj was twelve.
his dad, who flinched at loud noises -- metal thermoses dropped on concrete floors and doors slammed in high summer winds -- but who'd get this eerie meditative calm whenever he heard fireworks, or caught a snippet of foley gunfire in some old war reenactment on the history channel late at night.
his dad, who wore more and more weird occult jewelry the older he got -- heavy silver chains laced with charms that jangled when he walked, and bracelets with arcane script etched on them, and always that thick, tarnished ring on a chain around his neck. (one of dj's earliest memories is sitting on his dad's belly one lazy weekend morning in bed, propped up against his dad's bent knees, trying to pull that ring into his mouth. dad prying it free with those big gentle hands of his and twisting the chain so the ring hung down the back of his shirt where dj couldn't grab at it.)
his dad, who loved movies more than almost anybody dj's ever known, who had the best collection of old bootlegs and classic movies dj got to introduce first his friends and then his dates to, who'd get quiet and a little misty-eyed when he'd slip old westerns and black-and-white monster movies on during his insomniac spells.
his dad, who cooked like shit but could bake almost anything on his first try, no matter how convoluted the recipe. his dad, who had this ancient 1920s toaster that burned the bread half the time but who steadfastly refused to buy a newer one made sometime in this century.
his dad, who got a little detached at the end of things, who'd ramble on to dj and his hospice nurses and anybody who'd listen that when he was young, he'd walked amongst the horsemen and seen the righteous man slay death with his own scythe and beheld the apocalypse. that he'd killed god and trapped the devil and cut down angels and demons both.
his dad, who talked in his sleep, who ground his teeth at night so badly the family dentist wanted him to wear a mouth guard while he slept, especially after he broke a molar during dj's sophomore year of high school and swallowed half of it before he woke up.
his dad, who maybe was special forces or something like that; something that left him with action movie hero scars but secret enough that dj couldn't ever find him in the national archives. (his grandfather, he found; one john eric winchester, born april '54, deceased july 2006, joined the marines 1973).
his dad, who had a bigger first aid kit than the school nurse, who picked dj up after a foul ball split open his eyebrow during little league baseball, heedless of the blood smeared against the shoulder of his shirt. his dad, who sat dj on the tailgate of his pickup and closed up the cut with butterfly strips; who sent dj back on the field to finish the game in his blood-crusted jersey that said "WINCHESTER-ATCHISON" arced across the back because mom had paid his little league dues.
his dad, who never took flowers to cemeteries, just whiskey and dozens of salt packets snaked from restaurant condiment bars. his dad, who never smoked as far as dj knows, but who always had a lighter on him anyways.
his dad, who had a meticulous will and a crematory service already picked out and paid for; his dad who had dozens of friends dj'd never met who showed up at the funeral in nice-ish jeans and logger boots, who slapped dj on the shoulder and told him tall tales about how his dad saved their lives "back in the day". his dad, who left dj the house and the car and the antiquarian books, and seventeen boxes full of burn bags that dj dutifully incinerated in the massive backyard fire pit his dad dug the year dj turned six.
his dad, who almost never called dj by his full name, who would ruffle up his carefully gelled hair and call him "deej" and smile with all his teeth, who had visibly been crying after dj's graduation, but who'd yelled louder than anybody else when the principal announced, "dean hayden winchester, class of 2046".
his dad, who told dj he loved him in a casual, careless way, every day dropping him off at school and every time he hung up the phone after dj left home, and one last time while holding his hand in the bed with rails that the hospice had provided.
origamiaround
kianamaiart
discoholicmusic
vaporwave
turnnoffyourmind
jacobvanloon
