Three Months Later

Somewhere On the Road to Jackson, Mississipi

That stupid song was playing again. Before John could reach over and turn it off, that line, the one he'd come to despise, blared through the speakers.

"Don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you got till it's gone, they paved paradise, and put up a parking lot."

"Dad, can I change it, please?" Dean asked from the passenger seat next to him.

"Please do." John replied.

As Dean fiddled with the radio, trying to find a rock station, John took a look in the backseat. Three months later, it still jarred him to see a virtually identical copy to Dean. John had been cautious in the time since he'd been thrown into what felt like a very bizarre yet realistic dream. He had talked to this new Sam, trying to get to know him. He'd expected to find a copy of Dean in personality as well as looks, but the opposite was the case. Sam was a straight A student. He was quiet, passive, and easygoing. He always had a book in his hand, though the majority of the time it was a lore book. The six hunts they'd all been on together, he'd proved himself a master of research. He knew what they were fighting, how to fight it, and the safest way to fight it before John and Dean even had a grasp on what they were looking for. He seemed to also like the same types of books, movies, music, and food that the old Sam did.

There were differences though. Some subtle, some not so subtle. The first thing John noticed was the lack of teasing between the brothers. When John was around, they were hardly ever bickering, playfully or otherwise. They would talk, but it was cordial, more the level of acquaintances than the best friends they'd been before. John wondered if they were closer than they appeared when he was around. He hoped so, because the thought that he might have destroyed the relationship Dean had with his brother through his stupid wish broke John's heart.

Sam never argued. He did what John told him to, when John told him to do it, and never offered a single protest. At first, John hated to admit it, it was a nice change of pace. But after a week, he found himself doing things that would've annoyed the old Sam in hopes to spark some kind of argument. It was, in a word, boring. John would deliberately get exactly the same thing for dinner for a week in a row. He would interrupt Sam during one of the rare times he was relaxing to tell him to do random chores or training. Run a mile before dinner. Sweep the floor, then do it again. Go to bed an hour and a half early, for no reason whatsoever. Tell Sam he could go to a museum with some friends, promise him that he could go, then change his mind as Sam was walking out the door. Sam never complained once. Not one time did he give an eye roll, refuse to do it, try to bargain out of it, or yell that it was unfair.

And it pissed John off.

Because with the loss of the argumentative, stubborn, pigheaded Sam came the loss of the amazing, compassionate, sensitive Sam. The one who, even at fifteen, would sometimes randomly come to his father and hug him around the waist for no reason at all. The one who would tell John, in the increasingly rare moments of peace and calm between them, that he loved him and hoped that John never doubted that. The one who deserved the world, knew he deserved the world, and only wanted two things-his father's love and approval, and the chance to step away from the ugly things in the world and enjoy the good things too.

"Dad?"

"Yeah, Sam?" John asked, fighting the mistiness in his eyes.

"You asked me to remind you when we'd gone four hours without stopping."

"Oh. Right." John said. "You guys ready for something to eat?"

"Sure. Burgers?" Dean suggested.

John had an idea, something he had never done too much before. "Sam? Where do you want to go?"

"Me?" Sam asked. "You never asked me that before."

"Well, I'm asking now. Come on. Dean and I always choose. You pick a place. Wherever you want."

"Well, there's an Italian place near here. Can we try that?" Sam asked.

"Where is it?"

"It's, um…." Sam suddenly clammed up. "It's okay, Dad. Never mind."

"Where is it, Sam?"

"We passed it ten miles ago." Sam said quietly.

John immediately knew the reason for Sam going quiet. Money had always been scarce, and the idea of turning around when they didn't have to and spending money on something other than cheap fast food or diner food often made John impatient or snappy, which would end up setting the tone for the rest of the night. Sam would snap right back, and before long, the two of them would be yelling back and forth at each other.

Break the cycle, John thought to himself. Break the cycle, and maybe, just maybe, you get the real Sam back.

"You want to climb up front and navigate for me?"

Sam and Dean both looked stunned. "Really, Dad?" Sam asked, his voice quiet with disbelief.

"Really. Come on up."

They doubled back, Dean lightly objecting to the choice of dinner that night. John simply told him that it wouldn't hurt him to do something different, and that he might even like what he gets. As they pulled up to the restaurant, John found himself for the first time in months laughing with the two of them. He turned the key to turn the car off and grabbed the door handle, only to be stopped by Dean.

"Dad, can Sam and I ask you something?"

"Sure."

The two boys looked at each other, and Sam was the first one to speak up. "Why don't you call us by our names anymore?"

"What?" John asked. "What are you talking about?"

"You never call us Dean or Sam anymore. You don't call us by our nicknames, or even call us 'son' anymore. You just leave orders and if you need one of us specifically, you just point at us." Sam said. "Did we do something wrong? Did we make you mad or something?"

John swallowed. It hadn't been consciously that he'd done it, but it made sense. Because the boys in front of him weren't his Sam or his Dean. They were good boys, but they weren't his kids. After realizing a week after the witches' visit that he wasn't get Sammy back on his own, and he wasn't going to convince either of the boys or Bobby that there was a different Sam somewhere out there, he'd simply told them that it had been a curse from a witch that made him think all that and that he'd been cured. The boys had seemed to buy it, and life had gone on like normal. At least for them.

"Dad, does it have to do with that witches' curse? The one that had you thinking that you had a different son?"

"Sort of. I stretched the truth a little when I told you I'd been cured." John said. He spoke slowly, since he was improvising. "I did realize the truth, that you boys were my kids, but I still have memories of me and that other Sammy. I wasn't…I wasn't really very nice to him a lot of the time, and it just feels so real."

"Are you afraid that's gonna happen with us?" Sam asked.

"Yeah." John said, grateful to have an answer. "Yeah, I am."

"Don't worry, Dad. We're not exactly the Bradys', but you're doing the best you can. I know that."

"You don't think I'm too hard on you two?"

"Maybe a little. Sometimes." Sam said honestly. "But I get it. I really do. I've never really been mad at you for it."

Damn it, John thought. Damn it, damn it, damn it. Why do you have to be everything I thought I wanted? Why?

"Thanks, son. Thank you. I mean that. And please just be patience with me. Okay? I promise things'll be back to normal." Both boys nodded eagerly, and John couldn't stand the wait anymore. "Let's go in. Let's talk about this werewolf we're going after."