"There's enough food for 3 days, but I'll be back by then. Lock all the doors and windows, and chain the door as well. Don't answer the door if anyone comes knocking. If the phone rings, don't answer, unless it's me. If it's me, I'll ring once, then ring again. Alright?"
Dean nodded, staring up at his father in awe. He had looked like an action hero back then, right before John's first serious hunt, with his shot gun in hand, old leather jacket, and the way the light shone on his gelled back hair. John smiled at his son, a little sadly, and ruffled his hair.
"And don't forget, look after Sammy."
They both glanced at the 3 year old, cuddled up in a nest of blankets. He had made it his duty to collect all the sheets and blankets in the hotel, for 'inspection'. It turned out he just wanted to roll around in them, and ended p getting too tangled up, and too tired to break free of the cocoon. They both smiled, Dean giggling slightly. John looked back at Dean and nodded, then headed out the door. Last second, he spun on his heel and bent down with his arms held out. Dean groaned.
"Didn't think I'd forget my luck hug, did ya?" John chuckled, grinning at Dean.
"I'm nearly 8 Dad, can't Sammy hug you?"
John just shook his head, smiling. Dean sighed, trying to fight the smile on his face as he walked closer. As soon as he was in range, Dean was scooped up in a giant bear hug, giggling. After a few seconds, John put Dean down, and ruffled his hair again.
"Remember, If I'm not back by Sunday, call the number next to the phone, and Pastor Jim will come get you."
Dean nodded, unable to remove the huge grin on his face. He waved his father out the door.
"Go kick some ghost butt!"
John chuckled.
"Bye Dad!" He called as John went around the corner, out of sight. The only reply was the sound of an engine.
27 year old Dean awoke, and let out a soft groan. Maybe leaving the hospital wasn't such a good idea. He looked around, and saw Sam drooling on one of his books. There were papers all around him, and a mobile phone lay in one of the rooms only clear spaces. Both had been waiting for their father to show up, ever since Sam left the message.
Dean sighed.
He was dying, and his father hadn't even called. Hadn't even sent a text message! Dean couldn't help but wonder. What if it was Sam instead? John had always liked Sam better. It was obvious. Sam, the smart one, the kind one, the honour student. Unlike Dean, the complete social failure, the 'man whore'. No, John wouldn't leave Sam to die. He'd come running to them, even if he knew the petty fights were inevitable, he'd come.
Then again.
John Winchester never was good at goodbye. Maybe that's where Dean got it from. He implied it, with all his cautions and affectionate looks, but never said the words. He didn't say it before a hunt, when he left Dean to take care of Sam, alone. He didn't say it before he went missing. He didn't even say it when Sam left for college.
Dean laughed at himself.
Why was he expecting his father to come barging in? Why was he expecting his father to hug him, and tell him it'd be alright? Why was he expecting his father to mourn him when he was gone? There was no reason to.
He never says goodbye.
A/N: Sorry to those who are expecting an 'Angel of Death, the overused cliche' update, I just got this great idea while I was supposed to be geting to sleep and wrote it then. Reviews and criticism wold be great! Thanks for reading.