It was much easier to hustle pool when you had three people.

They arrived at the bar separately. John was in the middle of a game by the time the boys arrived. Dean challenged him to the next game. Sam played the concerned friend who tried to talk him out of it. John beat him, although Dean made it a good game, and then the hustle was on. Dean beat the next three opponents, and John even managed to pick up another game, which he won as well. None of the marks seemed to suspect they had been played.

Dean made a show of buying John a drink afterwards to show him no hard feelings. Sam insisted he didn't play pool, but picked up a game of darts and won. John left the bar nearly half an hour before his sons.

By the time they returned to the room, nearly a thousand dollars richer between the three of them, John had been to a liquor store and picked up a couple bottles of good bourbon. He poured each of them three fingers' worth into the cheap plastic cups provided by the motel, and they toasted a successful night.

Dean turned in afterwards, tucking himself on the near side of the bed further from the door, falling into the old routines as naturally as breathing. Dad got the bed closer to the door, and Sammy slept closest to the back wall unless it had a window.

John poured himself and Sam another round, which they drank in silence. After Sam's third drink and John's fourth, Sam's gestured to the door and muttered "Outside."

John nodded, picking up the room key with one hand and the bottle of bourbon with the other. By the time Sam gently closed the door behind him, John had one hip propped against the front fender of the Impala, looking at him expectantly.

"What the fuck was that, that you couldn't answer the phone when Dean was dying, but you jumped up and ran when Daniel Elkins got killed?" Sam demanded in a low growl. "Your own son, your damned little obedient soldier who always jumps every time you snap your fingers, and you could't lay off the trail of the demon for one day when he was dying?"

"Elkins had the Colt, Sam." John explained with exaggerated patience. "I couldn't let that fall into the wrong hands."

"You didn't know that, at the time!" Sam reminded him. "You didn't know he had the Colt until you read the letter he left you, after he died. But you came for some other hunter, and you wouldn't even come for your own son."

"What do you want me to say, Sam?" John snapped. "Because I'm pretty sure nothing I say is going to satisfy you."

"I want to know why you don't give a damn about Dean." Sam accused.

"I do and that was the problem!" John blurted before taking a swig of the liquor. He slapped the room key down on the car's hood. "What could I have done, Sam? It wasn't like I was some miracle worker who was gonna save him! You think I should have come and held his hand and told him I loved him or some chick flick shit like that? My son was dying! And I wasn't strong enough to face it! I can face down monsters any day of the week, but you know what really scares me? The thought of losing one of my boys!"

Sam opened his mouth, and then closed it again without making a sound.

"Not what you expected to hear, huh?" John huffed before taking another sip from the bottle. "I know I screwed up a lot, and I know you don't believe it, but I always loved the two of you."

They both looked away, at the ground, off into the distance, anywhere but at each other, the silence hanging heavily between them.

"If it had been you, I would have come." John muttered softly.

Sam's eyes snapped to his father's face.

"I would have come if you were dying, to hold Dean together." He continued. "If you had been the one dying, Dean would have fallen apart. If anything happens to you, he'd probably start the fire to burn your bones and jump in on top."

"I'm sure he'd be touched by your faith in him." Sam snorted. "As much as I am in knowing that you wouldn't care what happened to me if Dean was gone."

"You could handle it." John shook his head. "It would hurt, but you'd get through. You're tough, Sam. You were strong enough to walk away." John tipped the bottle up again. "You're like me. It's funny, because when you were kids I always thought Dean would be like me, but he's not. He's got Mary's heart. But you, you're like me. You can be one cold hearted son of a bitch when you have to. You can put the emotions aside and carry on."

"Yeah, like you've done for all these years, getting drunk whenever your thoughts got to be too much." Sam scoffed. "Yeah, that's carrying on, all right. In that aspect, Dean is like you. He's pretty well on the way to full fledged alcoholism."

John fixed him with a glare. "When you've seen half the shit I have, let's see how you deal." He huffed and shook his head again. "Mark my words, Sam. One of these days, you're going to see I'm right."

"No," Sam argued, reaching for the motel room key. "I will never be like you."

John shrugged and took another drink as he watched his younger son stomp back into the room.