Bryant H. McGill
Sam couldn't stop staring at his hands after they got into the car and drove away. Away from the daevas, away from the danger. Away from Dad. Years now, almost four years, Sam hadn't seen or talked to or touched Dad. Most of this past year he'd even been deadly sure that Dad never wanted to see him again. Now – now -
"Sam." Dean's voice brought him back to the moment.
"What?"
They were fast leaving the city behind them, heading through the darkness, looking for a back road that led to anywhere that wasn't here.
"You haven't heard a word I've said."
"Did you say something important?" Sam couldn't help snarking Dean a little. Yeah, they were in danger. Yeah, they'd just lost Dad again. Yeah, they were 'beat to hell'. But Dad was real and alive and back in focus and Sam was still part of his world like he'd never left it and if that wasn't a reason to be happy –
"Still not listening." Dean groused.
"All right. I'm listening. What?"
"I said, we need to find a place to get cleaned up before we go looking for a motel room. We go in looking like chum from 'Jaws' and we're gonna raise a few eyebrows."
"Yeah."
He must've said it distracted or not with his usual perky enthusiasm or something, because Dean gave him a long stare.
"Look, Sam. We had to let Dad go."
"I know. I know we did."
"At least we got to see him. He got to see us." Dean flashed a grin at Sam. "And he was real happy to see you."
Sam offered a smile back, but apparently it still wasn't enough of a response for Dean.
"C'mon, Sam. You can't seriously tell me you still think Dad hates your or never wanted to see you again. I mean, him saying you two had a hell of a fight the last time you talked was as close to an apology as I've ever heard him come."
"Yeah." Sam had to chuckle at the accurate description of what a John Winchester apology sounded like. "I know."
"Then what?"
As Sam stared at the road stretching in front of them, he couldn't help thinking of high school algebra, Winchester style: 'if a '67 Impala is hurtling westward in the middle of the night, and an '86 Sierra Grande is hurtling eastward at the same time…who made the bigger mistake?'
"He was hurt." he said.
"Yeah, well…" That put some hesitation in Dean. "He'll get himself patched up. You know Dad's tough as rawhide. He'll be okay, Sammy."
"Yeah. No – I know. It's just – that's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?"
"I mean – he was hurt…when I left for school."
There was a pause from Dean, though he was obviously working up to saying something.
Finally, "And you're just figuring this out now? Genius?"
Well, Sam figured he deserved that.
"I knew I made him mad when I left." He said. "I thought – I just thought – I thought he was just mad 'cause I was doing something he didn't want me to do. I didn't think – I never thought – it didn't seem -."
But he couldn't think how to say it. He'd believed for years that Dad hated him after he left. He'd never once considered that Dad cared.
He stared down at his hands again, thinking about Dad and their all-too-brief, much-too-violent reunion. He couldn't find the words to describe what he was feeling, even to himself. There were no words. Nothing could express or explain or explicate everything he'd felt when he felt Dad's arms go around him. Everything he'd silently offered to Dad, and everything he'd felt offered back to him from Dad. Relief, happiness, forgiveness.
Love.
Then it hit him what he was feeling.
He was a son again.
He squeezed his eyes shut for a minute then looked out the side window. Beside him, Dean sighed and chuckled and shook his head. Probably still amused and amazed at Sam's slow uptake on Dad.
"How the hell did you ever get through all those classes at Stanford if the simplest thing escapes you?" Dean snarked, after Sam stopped talking. He sounded amused, not annoyed. "I guess it's true what they say, there's such a thing as being too smart."
Smiling made the gouges in Sam's face burn, but he grinned and snarked back, "Well, I guess that's just one thing you don't have to worry about then, isn't it?"
Dean turned a lethal glare on him, but then he smiled and patted Sam's knee.
"We'll be okay, too, Sammy."
"Yeah. I know."
The End.