SPN_Untitled 2.73 drabbles by withdiamonds
Yeah, I started two different stories for this prompt.
It didn’t take Dad very long to get over the worst of his anger. Oh, he was still upset, Dean made no mistake about that, but that whole if you go, don’t bother coming back fury had pretty quickly extinguished itself in the empty spaces Sam left behind.
Dean knew Dad was mostly scared shitless. Hell, so was Dean and he didn’t know half the things Dad did about what was out there in the dark. All Dean knew was that Sammy was out there, alone and full of expectations, and the very idea of it terrified Dean so much that he refused to actually think about it.
John Winchester shared his emotions as readily as his oldest son did, which was to say not at all, and the two of them spent many a night sitting silent in front of the TV, or else driving down empty highways with only the sounds of Led Zeppelin between them.
Once Sam left, they became more nomadic than they’d been when Sam was there to bitch about the impermanence of their lives. There didn’t seem to be any point in pretending that just the two of them were capable of having a real home.
But there were PO boxes here and there, full of junk mail and magazines and the occasional letter from John’s contacts, and Dean could see the fear and regret on his father’s face when nothing in those boxes was ever graced with Sam’s familiar handwriting.
It made him hate his brother just a little, and that alone was beyond any forgiveness the three of them could ever seek from each other.
It didn’t take Dad very long to get over the worst of his anger. Oh, he was still upset, Dean made no mistake about that, but that whole if you go, don’t bother coming back fury had pretty quickly extinguished itself in the empty spaces Sam left behind.
Dean knew Dad was mostly scared shitless. Hell, so was Dean and he didn’t know half the things Dad did about what was out there in the dark. All Dean knew was that Sammy was out there, alone and full of expectations, and the very idea of it terrified Dean so much that he refused to actually think about it.
John Winchester shared his emotions as readily as his oldest son did, which was to say not at all, and the two of them spent many a night sitting silent in front of the TV, or else driving down empty highways with only the sounds of Led Zeppelin between them.
Once Sam left, they became more nomadic than they’d been when Sam was there to bitch about the impermanence of their lives. There didn’t seem to be any point in pretending that just the two of them were capable of having a real home.
But there were PO boxes here and there, full of junk mail and magazines and the occasional letter from John’s contacts, and Dean could see the fear and regret on his father’s face when nothing in those boxes was ever graced with Sam’s familiar handwriting.
It made him hate his brother just a little, and that alone was beyond any forgiveness the three of them could ever seek from each other.