gotta understand something. after your mother passed ... all i saw was evil. everywhere. and all i cared about was ... was keeping you boys alive. i wanted you … prepared. ready. see, somewhere along the line, i ... i stopped being your father … and i … i became your ... your drill sergeant. so when you said that you wanted to go away to school … all i could think about, my only thought was … that you were gonna be alone. vulnerable.
a independent and selective exploration of john winchester from eric kripke’s supernatural. designed with canon and personal headcanons laced throughout. themes heavily horror based & triggering, so proceed with caution. this is strictly twenty one plus. with activity being sporadic.
blog roll —— @obsolescences , @hellsguard , @hellswire , @kryptns , @pist0ls , @sandswarp , @sheriffers , @redsrotten , @sculpturas
words couldn't begin to describe what whizzed around the mind, what words wanted to form but only fumbled and hesitated across the parted pads. and there it was-- that small ounce of a punch to the gut that couldn't be avoided for the most obvious of reasons. yeah, well it's too late for excuses. it continued to play over repeatedly in a loop that wouldn't cease the relentless assault on the mind. then the voices that forcefully shoved to the back and drew a veil began to seep out from the darkness they'd been forced to endure. whispers of such epic failures as losing his own wife to cause a downward spiral into the supernatural field, treading down a road that couldn't be joined at the hip nor wondered by another. deep pools of chestnut orbs traced from the soles of his own sons shoes, then advanced upward to the slight baggy worn jeans-- no one could forget a signature jacket of course. but the hunter just stopped-- merely stopped for a couple of seconds to take in adams facial features. how the last time they'd laid eyes on one another had been the previous visit, which felt like almost a life time ago from now. they'd both bared a mark whether it was physically, emotionally or mentally. from being down within the depths of hell whilst above everyone continued their mundane life without skipping a beat. what hadn't been expected on one part had been his own resurrection from the pits-- the visits with alastair that continued without a pause of tranquility. time just so happened to pass differently once below of course. weeks turned into months and even atop then it furthered into skipping down years at a time.
dipped into what little hadn't fogged up and clouded the memory were those pure moments of nostalgia. where the times had been spent with his youngest at the most simplest of pastimes-- a baseball game and supporting cap of selected team which sat tightly atop the head. worn down famous leather jacket hung on the shoulders, hotdog in hand that often suffered the sudden jolted grip from the adrenaline before subsiding the next. what was there to say ? john was a sports type of guy down at heart. baseball just happened to be fairly sat at the top amongst the most. often finding himself getting carried away just a tad, in the heat of the moment. with the swift movement of orbs to his side where adam would give an all knowing expression. where the former bellowing in raised volume slowly began to lighten and slowly fade into brief cheers and celebratory excitement. call it selfishness, call it whenever it stood out as but whilst enjoying those days of mundane activity with adam--- it not once crossed the mindset to teach his youngest the ways around a gun, let alone any given weapon to wield. whether it be with the barrel of a pistol, a machete-- the thought of dragging even the smallest hints of supernatural into the pairs world was almost unbearable. ignorance contributed to the down fall. to the absence of his own presence within that of adam and his mothers life. it left them vulnerable when tranquility lingered for such periods of time. it led to why the facade of a plumber, a handy man who worked behind the scenes of vehicles rather then defending humanity from that which goes bump in the night.
what is there left to say when words can't do near enough to convey the thoughts and intentions ? john looked like a scolded, almost tail tucked dog in the corner, unknowing of the next move to make. almost completely and utterly caught off guard with adam mere feet from touch. his reason for not being around-- of course it involved his eldest of children but also the vengeance that coursed through those veins. as if engrained within the dna to find the source and eliminate from this world. yellow eyes-- had been all but too consuming to every waking thought, it didn't leave much room for actually being a present figure in ones life. it didn't leave room for being a parent, a father for that matter. where being a father truly mattered rather then hunting down a faceless demonic being that tore life limb from limb out of the palms. not being around for sam or dean in the early years of life, way through to the teenage and rebellious years. and then when his youngest came into the world ... that driven thought continued to drive rather then slowly peel from the wheel. to have some of that ' sweet life ' for a change of scenery. yet thoughts just pooled until an unyielding storm set loose upon the ideas, such weakling ideas that could leave further dead then already burned to ashes. " well, it wasn't how i'd have thought you'd meet your brothers ... not that it can be changed now but-- even when i couldn't be who you needed. i'm glad sam and dean managed to. "
"i get it. trust me. i do. but i just needed my dad.." (i'm sorry.)
it began. in a beat without failure. the hunter that had since thought to have been wiped from this earth, assumed to be comfortably and safely wrapped above to finally be reunited with mary. when in reality the clutches from below had outstretched sharpened tips to latch on with an iron grasp, yanking him down the opposite direction. bared forearms strapped down onto worn, stained old school dental hygienist patient chair. tilted at an angle to be between the middle of comfortable yet slightly unbearable strain that awaited the muscles. to be sliced, craved, beaten; bruised and dowsed in all manners of chemical liquids. leather that tightened around the whole gooey fleshed suit from the ankles that began to shift in coloration to a slight violet, wrists, knees, inner arms that had puncher arms buried deep into slowly rotting veins. the nape continued to further get assaulted by the increase of hole by hole until near breath became difficult enough to suck down the inner walls of flesh. and another finally strapping down across the forehead-- having been near nailed down to the chair itself for the protests and struggles against being subdued. quite a handful under the watchful gaze and skilled hands of none other then alastair. the one sided conversation that often took up most of the time spent between the two whilst torture was underway. sometimes even when the tempting of whispers uttered in such hushed tones in attempts to convince the hunter to slip off the table, to eventually give into the inevitable and inflict suffering on other innocence to prolong his own. every time met with a chuckle-- a build up of crimson bodily fluids pooling in the inner walls of cheeks before spitting violently at the demonic being. from an outside prospective it might be seen as insanity slowly sinking in-- but no, this was john at his finest without the lingering thoughts of repercussions for his own actions. instead it would just lead to further assault on the physcial limbs and soul for the remainder of time.
now stood within the boundaries of sleezy rundown motel walls, experience withering tender aged orbs glimpsed to that of another. how long had it been since he'd last laid eyes on either of his sons ? it felt like almost a lifetime ago. tired deep chestnuts softened when meeting another pair of forest orbs staring right back. neither of the two males seemed to move-- it almost seemed like a dream in the making that neither wanted to fully break just … yet. john clearly having not aged like fine wine like most at the peak of age. the untamed strands that often wavered atop the head now completely shredded from existence. now a brief amount of growth began to surface. stubble that danced across the chin, jawline and above the upper lip had grown just the slightly from it's known existence. smallest speckled grey spots surfacing across the beard throughout. " dean … " john had probably never uttered his own child's name so gently in the history of time. that softness of the orbs only seemed to further in expression, with pursed lips beginning to press together to form a wobbling line. if any man could be the perfect description of an emotional, titanic mess it would be that of the hunter at this second. digits that once gripped the sown off shotgun had since discarded on the uneven crumpled sheets of the nearest slept mattress. i get it. trust me. i do. but i just needed my dad. those words. it was like a nail in the coffin. words alone that could mean a million and one things that screamed years of pleads to the surface. the times that often got ignored or brushed off when the boys were growing up just rushed to the surface. fucking god damn how it broke him.
“ I’m here now— well, damn it I’m trying to be with you boys. for what it’s worth which is probably jack shit to nothin leave you both over the years to fed for yourselves. ” the raw emotion, and yet he’d had so many attempts to make it right. to actually step be present and be a father yet it seemed the reality of time wasn’t on his side. both sam and dean were grown adults, making decisions of their own and what little amount of room was left … john wanted to try. was he past the expiration of hunting ? muscles that ached and pleaded with the male to take it easy, only got shoved to the back of the mindset. something to deal with on another day when the supernatural weren’t sucking down every ounce of innocence life they could sink their claws into.
it was-- somehow, someway shape or form had led down this road that laid the fault across the doormat without a shred of doubt. mistakes had formed a change in judgment from the past to the present. it had taught the hunter nothing but the loss and ache of tragedy. that the mere attempts at a simple mundane were just that-- wishful thinking that had been wasted over the decades. the road that he'd walked down was one of sorrow, self pity; loneliness and shadows that loomed with hooks over the shoulders. ready to slowly and easily sink through the flesh, to drag down further into the pits of darkness and surrender fully to what awaited him.
a hunter. it led down a path that no other could follow so swiftly without losing an ounce of themselves. where family ties led with support only meant weakness-- a source to use at another's advantage whether supernatural species or that of others of the same trade. so how the damn hell did it lead to this ? an inflicted injury made by ghoul digits that sliced through tissue and flesh, had left him near incapacitated . vulnerable-- open to any type of advance that could wipe the male from the face of the earthy soil with a swift swing at the wrong angle. a nurse on duty that hushed down the ramblings of a madman, injected liquids to keep a tranquil atmosphere whilst treating the wound at hand. spoke nothing but sweetness and kindness-- the reassurance that continued down a path of familiarity. a bond began to form over the course of such a shortened period until the hunt had been completed, until no threat loomed over the towns people and yet found himself extending the stay. an excuse that laced across the tongue to his sons for a woman unknown. when his own disappearance came around had a swollen stomach slowly began to blossom over time and eventually when john made a grant appearance once more months skipped down the line did he learn of his unborn child. of adam.
the disappearance from his own two children for extended weeks to months on end, abandoned in the surroundings of near unsanitary motel rooms had only allowed the excuses to build over time. mentions of hunts accompanied by perhaps familiar individuals only covered up the truth further to innocent orbs. in reality john had spent the time watching his youngest of children grow, flourish and begin to form that bond between father to son. one which with his eldest had began to slowly crumble on thin ice, decay over the time where trust was questioned and choices in life raised brows. after the event of the loss of the mother of his children, best friend and partner in this hellhole of a world. it had near completely and utterly broke the man to the core. all that stood before in the vision and path had been those of paired yellow eyes. the determination to eliminate the individual being that destroyed the tranquility of life-- the thought of it being smothered and erased from this world. it would bring a slight ounce of that routine back into focus, the tranquility slowly peeling back into place. instead john had retreated back into a former role-- that of a solider in the means to keep his own children alive.
chest nut pools flickered, wavered over his youngest that stood mere couple of feet away. breathing-- blood flowing through the veins, of human flesh and all. was there any excuse ? could he willingly give any ounce of an excuse for allowing not only adam's mother to suffer at the hands of supernatural creatures in act of vengeance but for adam to be dragged into this conflict on top ? no. nothing could amount to an apology, nothing could make up for the mistakes he'd made and in doing so cost the two individuals their life's. johns chin dipped, allowing the shadows all but to consume and shade the orbs that dared to threaten pools to surface on the outer rims. his brows furrowed causing creases along the temple, the mere attempts to hide the shame that continued to build in the quiet atmosphere. lower lip dragged inward by the upper pearly whites in yet more slowed failed attempts to maintain a level head, a clear mind and heart. to put it plainly the stance currently could be noted like that of a child having been scolded-- for being caught red handed and fighting at all odds to suppress the building of uncontrolled emotions. john couldn't do it-- couldn't bring himself to look his own son in the eyes, wouldn't allow himself that pleasure to glimpse upon his own flesh and blood after everything that happened. plainly-- he was one shitty ass excuse for a father, a failure at most to near every single soul ever to cross paths with a winchester. did he deserve that second chance ? to reach the digits out, to take that step closer and extend the arms out to wrap around his youngest ? no. no he did not. it would continue to be a haunting reminder that actions lead to consequences.
john remained-- unmoved in the stance, whilst allowing the digits to slowly ball into tightened fists and slide into the outskirts of trouser pockets. inhale, exhale-- repeat it. for half a minute its all he'd managed to do. after that he'd raised the chin inch by inch until the shadows retreated into nothingness. a heavy exhale. " i can not begin to tell you how god damn sorry i am ... for what happened to you, to your ... mum. there's ain't any excuse that could begin to cover it. " unconsciously the hunter had unburied a fist from the pockets, uncurled and began to scratch at the back of his nape. " your old man thought he could live the simple life .. a pipe dream most hunters call it. " then there it was-- the olive branch, one that even now john couldn't quite let himself believe for that second. the mention of chuck-- of so called god being far worse down the line then himself in parenthood ? well, it brought slight tugging. only a small amount to draw a smile to begin it's assault across the pads, a sigh of relief to follow. " well, think you might be on to something there-- son. "
it's a headcanon that john managed to get a hold of this photo in storage files at the station and keeps it tucked in the sun shade in the passengers seat.
soles of the boots sinking into the earthly dampened soil, each stride through the grounds making it further difficult to maintain a stable footing. swinging to the left hand side in gripped digits, a machete dripping with tire like goo from the sharpened edge. flicking at times to coat the surrounding soil. this wasn't at all how it was meant to go down nor had the hunter prepared for quite literally such a damn shit fest. droplets began to drop from the grey clouds that circled above eithers head, along with the crackle of thunder rumbling through the empty skies. only one thing mattered-- that they'd both get out alive before the weather worsened. before anything else could turn them on the balls of the heels to face yet another threat. john kept moving, continued with the assault across the terrain and every so often glimpsing over the shoulder to keep dean within his sights.
perhaps heavy exhales of breathe had been the reason why he'd suddenly came to a halt or that he couldn't hear another set of footing behind him. but john came to a slow stop when the realization hit. with chest raising and falling in further rapid motion, allowing that panic to slowly creep in, whilst attempting to catch his own breath. " dean! " the hunter almost bellowed at the top of the lungs, inner walls of the throat tender and rough already. a minute, another and then one more ontop of the others to follow. the thoughts of worst case scenario and then movement, a shadow trudging through the layers of overgrowth until becoming clear. it was him. and the relief that washed over the hunter couldn't have been anymore then a weight lifted off the chest. " god damn it-- don't ever leave my line of sight in future. we'll go slower in the meantime, looks like we aren't being followed for now. "
a low chuckle with a dip of the chin, followed with a few shakes of the head from side to side. this would be something to remember. the recklessness of his own actions having nearly had the pair worst for wear, not the finest of hours noting to self. it might be the adrenaline talking– that pumps through the veins and is yet to allow the reality of the situation to sink in fully. limbs yet to protest in the aching that'll soon settle in, even the lungs had begun to work overtime just to keep the god damn fool breathing and sat up straight ish. “ hey– can’t always rely on a plan when everything goes to shit, bobby. otherwise we’d be the main course. ” john manages to get just the sentence or two out, entertainment clearly still lacing through the tone. it was taken near everything not to just chuckle to himself over the situation they’d both gotten in.
droplets of black tur liquid continue to pool around the underneath of the drawn blade, chest nut orbs glimpsed to copy the direction of the slightly ‘ matured ‘ hunter. silence wavered between the pair– just awaiting that dreaded sound of heavy following footsteps or the sounds of gritted teeth attempting an inhuman sound. his brows knotted just for a split second when the ears mistook the gust of wind for movement. then nothingness that followed was pure bliss in itself. orbs snapped straight back up to bobby in that moment, a brief nod of the head. “ yeah. i'm good– let's get the god damn hell outta here whilst we still have the head start. ”
@safetypinned. continuation of our meme . over from here
if it wasn’t obvious to the youngest hunters, it had already occurred to john– himself that age was eventually catching up. restrictions slowly setting into motion on such limitations within the field. the slowness in reaction time, limits unwilling to bent to the mental will and muscles beginning to ache. every fibre of the physical body screaming– shouting for any ounce of of pleading motion to slowly give into time. just so happened that the hunter happened to be one of few stubborn individuals in the line of work that generally refused to accept any type of defeat. scratch it up the background in the military for that short period of time or just down right personality but it couldn’t be argued. yeah– knowing that even after all the shit pulled over the years from abandoning his sons, leaving them for weeks to months on end with only seconds of a phone call. that not one, but both still cared about his wellbeing, mental; physical and emotional state meant such that couldn’t be described into words alone. but when it came to the job at hand– no matter what the physical limbs wanted to give into a peaceful slumber, he’d not allow it until every piece of information had been edged into the mind. until knowing the source, location, supernatural creature at hand along with any witnesses to approach at a given time. he knows. he can god damn literally see the surrender or admission of defeat for now. the compromise is all that he’d be willing to offer at the time otherwise it might keep going as it had. the atmosphere silent to all around other then the noise from the defected excuse of a motel room air conditioner.
orbs glimpse over, taking note of the sudden sag of sam’s shoulders. it almost– just almost allows that ease of those drawn arms across the chest to relax in their own state. when peeling over the state of the surrounds it was … questionable if peered inside from outside. papers continued to gather and slowly pile over time from the small table that john sat in front of all the way across to the completely outdated mattress of the room. perhaps it was the limbs finally giving that warning– that nudge to remain but he’d not moved from the seat. one reason had been the fear from the second of even attempting to stand that the muscles would give in and any attempts to catch himself would fail. that didn’t need to happen nor be seen. so instead john had watched his youngest move without effort across the room from one pile to another, eyes focused on the array of information scattered before. did an edge of a smile tug at the corners of the lips whilst sam’s back was turned ? yes. it wouldn’t be admitted. no doubt it would raise a questioning brow or quite the concern that the lack of sleep was getting to him. a second– a speck of proudness that hunts over the years had rubbed off on his own children. but then there it was again– that guilt. the type that wasted no time in allowing the smallest of whispers to seep into the mind and plant its seeds. sam and dean– they both deserved better then the path they’d quite literally been dragged down. without an ounce of choice in the matter or word to edge in opinion wise. dean always the faithful solider– doing what was asked and not asking questions. then sam … sammy. wanted different then this lifestyle that surrounded in nothing but the stink of death itself around every corner. to go to college, have a girlfriend and friends for the matter. father and son came to blows of the foreheads– continuously butting without either giving space and dean stuck dead in the middle. why had it taken this long to realise his own fuck up ? his own selfish means that over shadowed every voiced opinion or conversation that hadn’t been about yellow eyes ? john might curse himself to his own last breath on this earth for it every chance given. as it had now molded how the brothers interacted with their own father, compared to that of ‘ normal ‘ parents and children.
brows arose when sam started to relay the information so far that had been found, whilst he’d merely begun to lose focus on the papers. perhaps it had been the words ‘ single parent ‘ that triggered the spark of interest or that a numerous number of children had been taken without authorities doing much to little amount of foot work for that matter. john even notices how the entire time that his son hasn’t turned in the slightest to look at him nor attempt to glimpse over the shoulder. perhaps if he’d turned even an ounce it would have been noted that john was absorbing the information and unconsciously began to give a few nods of the head. arms withdrawing completely from the folded stance to glide either palms to the knees, then with what little energy behind them pushed off to somewhat stand. finger tips lingering to reach just enough to stand atop the table, allowing that small bit of support without making it obvious enough to another. “ well .. ” john began, no authority lacing through the tone. just abit groggy from the tone alone, which can account to the exhaustion. “ if your gut tells you they're connected– there might be something your old man missed. all i say is find the thread, go from there. half the time instinct and gut saves one’s ass out of any given situation. ” an admission– a rarer sight than any. how the hunter would have reacted before in a time where change didn’t even seem on the table, might have been one of slight destruction. wheeling in the sergeant that barked how completely and utterly stupid it was to go by gut– how it would be child's play and to act more like an adult. exhaustion maybe being a key for the sudden mood change ? whole personality change ? entirely possible. but it was a means to mend his own ways.
❛ you're the most insufferable person i have ever met. ❜
thick brows arched before narrowing until becoming wrinkled lines forming across the temple. if it hadn’t been for the sudden shock and confusion he’d might have been more reactive, more in the moment to actually respond or cut it off before being voiced. the hunters' pads parted for a slit to form, briefly exposing the pearly whites underneath with the tip of the tongue being pressed behind the upper front teeth. it repeated– in a loop over and over even after seconds to a minute had passed. at that moment it was almost a blessing in disguise that his eldest wasn’t in the room, instead having gone to follow up on a lead and left the pair alone. dean would have most likely defused the situation before there was even a chance to become so heated. a breathe, then another before those deep pooled chest nuts slowly closed. don’t john .. don’t do it. a small voice whispered– his own voice whispering faintly right back at him. to remain calm, composed and not fly off the handle. to not fall back into old habits– not allowing himself to fall back to the days of a drill sergeant. voice raised– filled with authority and demanding. after john managed to compose himself from becoming a ticking time bomb, did those lids slowly peel back open and land onto his youngest. no red flashing in field of view, no roaring fumes building to be unleashed. “ you know what– i’m gonna let that one side. considering i haven’t exactly been father of the year. better yet century for that matter. “ john began slow at first, remembering to maintain this calmness. that there are ways to get ones point across without absolutely losing ones shit. out of instinct he’d rose from the previously slumped position, took a step or two forward towards sam without an ounce of hesitation. “ but that doesn’t mean every time our paths cross that you can unload everything off your chest on to me, son. like a constant recurrence– a convenience to bounce anything at your old man. here i am– god damn tryin’ my hardest to change my ways and this is what comes back ? ”
whenever john is on a hunt or traveling on the open road— tunes from the 1950-1980s play randomly on a station
there is one tune that he constantly sings (terribly) along with almost every word by heart. tapping the fingers on the steering wheel and generally enjoying life. the wanderer by dion
after his own resurrection (vd) and the re-occurring  flashes of yellow eyes— john ended up getting anti-possession tattoo behind the back of his right ear. small enough and subtle not to be noticed 
john still carries marys wedding ring around his neck or other times slips it into his wallet when a case might go south in lingering fear of losing it
