Night of Truth and Tears (John Winchester; implied Dean/Sam)
The night Sam left for Stanford John Winchester cried. Last time he had really cried had been at Mary’s funeral. He hadn’t thought he had it in him to cry any more.
In one moment his family fell apart.
In one moment everything became cristal clear and the magnitude of his failures slammed him hard. He had failed his sons, he hadn’t protected them. They could kill with one hand tied behind their backs, sure, but still…he had let things happen.
The night Sam left for Stanford John Winchester saw; he saw the hurt in Dean’s eyes, the hatred, for a moment, directed at him - and coming from Dean…whose eyes were like Mary’s had cracked his heart open. - the self loathing.
He saw anger in Sam’s eyes, that throbbing thing he recognized and feared, and yet he had pushed him away. Words had slipped out from his mouth, harsh and definitive, because he didn’t know how to love any more. He didn’t know how to beg his son not to go away, he couldn’t bear the thought of losing him.
Truth was he lost both of his sons that night.
The night Sam left for Stanford John saw love…in three steps taken by Dean to follow Sam outside and a fist slammed against the doorframe when he stopped on his tracks. He saw, from the window of his bedroom, Sam, with his head tilted up, inhaling, crying, smiling and running away.
He had seen things, heard things…he had pretended they weren’t there, he had talked himself into believing that too much darkness had tainted his view of the world, that his younger son could never, would never look at his older brother like that.
Like desire was a fever and he couldn’t get rid of it, like Dean was the only thing that made Sam breathe sometimes.
And if, at times, the intensity of Dean’s quiet stare scared him even more, if his bigger than life presence shrinked when he was sitting in a corner of their motel rooms, cleaning their weapons as his eyes were fixed on Sam, he had pretended that it didn’t exist.
Until that night.
The night Sam left for Stanford, he lost both his sons: one to California, one to the things he hadn’t said, to the feelings he hadn’t allowed himself to feel.
The night Sam left for Stanford, was the night he was most proud of his children…and more scared.
It was the night of truths and tears…and John knew he’d live the rest of his life regretting it.