The sense of dread in the bottom of John Winchester's stomach intensified as he got closer to Bobby's salvage yard. He couldn't really pin down what it was that made him want to rather face down a werewolf pack than his sons right then. He thought maybe it would be easier to say what didn't make him uneasy about the whole damn situation.
His baby boy had been violated. Disfigured. Changed against his will. Bobby could say what he damn well wanted about 'virtuous' unicorns and their 'noble intentions'; John only knew that one of his sons had suffered permanent damage because of a unicorn. It was no different than Sam losing an arm or leg. Hell, it was worse. He lost his life.
John thought of the too few precious good memories he had of him and his youngest son together, when they weren't fighting and he wasn't disappointing Sam somehow and Sam wasn't disappointing him in turn, and he was mad as hell that those few moments were gone. Stolen. Ripped away.
John's hands were knuckled white around the steering wheel of his truck. He'd tried to track down the unicorn that did this to Sam. He traced his sons' path back to the town where it happened, to the very hotel room they'd used. It had been no use. He scoured the woods and come up with nothing but three corpses around a long-extinguished fire that he could not have moved himself to be bothered by. There was no sign of the unicorn.
Not that John was sure what he'd do with it if he caught it. His only real plan was half-ass. Hogtie it, throw it in the bed of the truck, take it to Sam and demand that it fix his boy.
Even that shitty-ass plan was pointless now. John was driving to meet his sons with nothing to offer them but his empty apologies. Sorry I wasn't good enough to find the answer to this for you boys. I know you were counting on me, but I just wasn't good enough for you.
But then, his sons ought to be used to disappointment. God knows Sam felt that way about his father often enough. John could never figure out just what his youngest son had wanted from him, but all Sam's life it had been some mysterious something John couldn't give him. He'd tried. He'd tried so hard, but Sam couldn't tell him what it was he needed so badly from John, and John wasn't a damn mind-reader.
He knew 'normal' had been a big deal to Sam, but what exactly did Sam think was normal? San had never actually known a shred of it, the whole of his life (that Sam was able to remember) was the hunt, and John couldn't possibly bring Mary back and make the family whole again for Sam's contentment, so John felt like he spent twenty-one years trying to figure out what would give Sam a sense of 'normal'.
It was always more than everything John offered up to try and make his youngest happy. It was just never enough with Sam. Finally, John gave up. John had a demon to track down and kill. Mary deserved to be avenged, and John couldn't spend all his time trying to have that therapy moment of breakthrough with his constantly needy youngest boy.
John checked his truck clock then returned his eyes to the road. He frowned darkly.
When he gave up on pleasing Sam, which happened real damn early, he shoved Sam off on Dean. John knew he did. It was just easier on all of them. Sam turned to Dean, sought out Dean, clung to Dean as everything John never was to him anyway. Even before John lost his patience with Sam and gave in to the path of least resistance, Sam had been that way.
Dean always made sense to John. Dean understood John's quest. His search. Dean remembered Mary. He knew everything that had been stolen from their family in the fire. Sam didn't, and maybe being spared that horrific memory meant Sam was missing something that was essential to being a Winchester.
Dean was quiet, intense, obedient, trainable. He was the perfect partner for John, even at four when the only thing John had entrusted to the boy was his baby brother.
Dean had a hunter's instincts. A soldier's mindset. He listened and didn't question every single decision just for the sake of being difficult. Dean had been John's little shadow, filling in its shape and motion as he grew into it.
John had always been able to trust Dean. Sam was a maverick. A wild card. If they were a Marine unit, John would have had Sam thrown in the brig and busted out of the Corps in a week. Dean was the asset.
But his kids weren't dismissible like that. So he charged Dean, his backup and partner, with the burden of taking care of Sam. John saw no reason not to. It was what they all wanted. Sam worshiped Dean, John didn't want to fight about it anymore, and Dean was fiercely protective and possessive of Sammy.
That was Dean's one big weakness. Sam. He was a walking open wound when it came to his brother, and he always had been. John saw it early on when Dean would throw a fit when Sam had any kind of problem at school, a 'normal' kind of problem as far as John was concerned, but Dean would get wound up so tight about Sam being upset about something that Dean would be off his feed for a week.
His boys had been too dependent on each other, John knew that now, in hindsight. He'd ignored it then because it made his life easier. And it was hard to be on the road, on the hunt, with two young boys in tow.
For all their family issues, John really believed his boys had turned out all right. He never figured Sam out like he'd hoped he would when the kid grew up and out of his rebellious phase, but Dean was a damn fine hunter, and even Sam had his good characteristics. For all the grief Sam gave John, he knew Mary would have been proud of him, and that counted for a hell of a lot in John's eyes.
John had his own reasons for being pleased with his sons and the men they'd become. His sons were known in the profession, among other hunters, spoken of with admiration. The Winchester brothers. They'd learned enough from John to have earned that reputation. John took pride in that.
But now… what was there of that duo left? Sam was, for all intents and purposes, gone. He was reduced to a liability again, just when he'd finally become useful on a hunt. That made Dean weak. John didn't have to see his sons to know that much was true. When anything made Sam vulnerable, Dean was taken out at the metaphorical knees. His ferocity was less calculated and more the lashing out of an angry, scared animal.
Bobby was right about one thing… his boys needed him right now.
John spent a lot of time thinking about the situation, and when he moved past the anger and sadness of what had happened to Sam, John saw an opportunity in this. It was only an opportunity in the event he couldn't cure his son, but that was looking pretty damn unlikely.
He'd gone at Sam the wrong way when the boy was growing up. He'd come at him head-on, like a freight train. That had worked with Dean. His oldest faced the challenge and came out fire-beaten better for it, like iron in the hands of a blacksmith.
Sam had balked and fought, sometimes it seemed just for spite.
After years of watching Dean handle Sam, John thought he had the angle of attack figured out. Sam couldn't be thrust down a path and told to blindly obey. He had to be nudged. Sam had to be taken from the flanks. He had to think the destination was his idea. John watched Dean coax and work his brother into all manner of concessions, and he did it by not laying down the words 'order' or 'command'.
Sam had to be reasoned with… he had to be told why something was the right thing to do. Nothing made Sam balk more than 'because I said so'. Dean went on faith in his father's judgment. Sam needed an explanation.
And after Dean had calmly and patiently explained the 'why' to Sam enough times, Sam began to trust Dean's judgment and forwent the immediate need to know 'why'. He'd come to believe that Dean had a reason for whatever he told Sam to do, and without doubt he'd get those reasons out of his big brother later, but Sam gave to Dean the privilege John had demanded as a right from the start. Sam went on nothing more than Dean's word and his faith in his brother.
Dean made Sam a soldier in his own right by chipping away at stone to make a statue… John had tried hammering Sam into a weapon in a single blow.
When John accepted he was not going to find a way to undo the unicorn's curse, he spent hours ruminating on all the interaction between his boys he'd seen while they were growing up, dissecting the way Dean handled Sam, and he thought he could do it.
He could do things differently, do things Dean's way, and Sam could come out a better soldier for it. The soldier John had tried so hard to make Sam.
He could make Sam more like Dean this time.
Maybe he'd find a way to make Sam love him with that new approach. Sam would throw himself off a cliff for Dean. No questions asked, no hesitation. It hurt John that he didn't have that same love from his own son. He hated that the only affection Sam seemed to have toward his father was the obligatory affection toward one's family members… regardless of whether or not honest love existed.
He never wanted to be estranged from Sam. Things just happened, one after another, then it was like John turned around and suddenly Sam was blowing up at him, yelling at him, and leaving for California with a grudge the size of Texas.
That was still one of the worst days in John's life. It hurt like hell watching Sam leave and knowing he'd been the reason.
He loved Sam more than he could ever tell him, because Sam would never listen.
That wouldn't happen this time. John would work for Sam's love. He'd do things right this time. How often did a father get the chance to correct all the mistakes he'd made raising a child?
He owed Mary that. He'd done a good job with Dean and dropped the ball with Sam.
He was going to make damn sure he didn't drop it this time.
John's heart was in his throat when he spotted Bobby's yard looming in the distance. He was steeling himself when he turned into the long driveway and saw the Impala parked in front of the run-down house.
John pulled up to the yard and abruptly hit the brakes.
Sam was outside. John hadn't seen that face, that child, for so many years, but he knew him in a second. Sam was playing tug-o-war with a black and white puppy in the yard, a shop rag taut between them.
John gaped dumbly. Seeing the boy took John back, what seemed like ages. He watched Sam, just as he remembered the boy at four, and almost expected eight-year-old Dean to come around the corner and yell at Sam to come inside for dinner.
It made John feel unspeakably older to see Sam a child again.
He put his truck in park and turned off the engine. At the cut-off sound, the puppy dropped the rag and whirled to face the truck. Sam stopped and followed the dog's gaze.
John couldn't move for a second, frozen. Sam's face was turned to him, his eyes locked on his through the windshield. John swallowed, numbly opened his door, and got out of the truck.
When he rounded the front of his truck and moved a few steps toward Sam, the boy edged backward.
John stopped. "Sam…"
The boy puzzled at him, hands limp at his sides. The puppy, troubled, inched over to Sam's side.
John's lungs weren't giving him the air he needed. God, his boy was beautiful. How had he grown so used to it when Sam was a baby the first time that he stopped noticing it? He was standing there, the very definition of potential. Hope. All the wrongs John hoped he could make right this time.
John wouldn't waste it. Not this time.
"Sam?"
The boy tipped his chin closer to his chest, peering up warily at John through sandy hair. "Who are you?"
John knelt down slowly. "I'm John… I'm your dad, Sam."
He didn't know what he expected. Sam flying at him with a joyous exclamation of 'Dad!', maybe, just like the days before Sam lost all faith in his father.
Instead, Sam didn't react at all. He stared long and hard at John, and there seemed to be room for such a possibility (that maybe this man was his father) in Sam's bright eyes, but he didn't come closer.
John got the feeling this stalemate could last all afternoon. Sam had that kind of fortitude. He cleared his throat. "Where's Dean?"
"I don't…" Sam stopped, his face screwed, then he said, "he's inside."
John stood. "Why don't we go get him? I need to talk to him for a minute."
Sam didn't move at first, then he dropped the rag in his hand and dashed toward the house. John followed, his long strides making up for Sam's pace.
Bobby's house was a disaster, as usual. Sam weaved through the junk with ease down the main hallway with John on his heels. The front door had been left open and the puppy darted inside, speeding ahead of Sam easily.
Dean was in the living room in front of Sam's laptop. He was looking at a webpage, his back to the hallway. The puppy ran up to him and tried to jump into his lap.
"Hey," Dean ruffled the dog's head and asked, "what are you doing in here?"
Sam wordlessly came up on Dean's side.
"Sammy, you know Jovi's supposed to stay outside." He looked up and saw the disconcerted look on Sam's face. "What is it?"
Sam grabbed for Dean's shirt sleeve and merely looked at John.
Dean turned in his chair, saw his father, and froze.
Dean usually moved to greet John when they reunited after separate hunts. John could always count on feeling welcome and wanted with his older son. But this time Dean just sat there, a very guarded and careful look on his face.
"Dad," he finally said.
"Hello, son. It's good to see you again."
Slowly, Dean moved Sam a step away with a gentle hand, stood, and walked across the living room to stand before John. It was a tense moment before either moved, and it was John who moved first. He grabbed his son in a hug. Dean returned it readily, the first hint of normal John had found since this fiasco started with Dean's voice message.
When they broke apart both men turned to look at Sam. The boy looked baffled and unsettled. He was absently petting Jovi, who was gnawing on the chair leg.
"Jovi," Dean snapped, and Jovi stopped guiltily.
John couldn't stop staring at the boy. It was Sam, no doubt about it. He would know that sweet face anywhere.
"Sam," Dean said in a calm, gentle voice, and Sam looked to his brother eagerly.
"Why don't you take Jovi back outside before Bobby catches her in here?"
Sam nodded and went back toward the front door, cautiously edging around the two men. He called to Jovi and she slunk after him, belly low to the ground, as though she sensed the tension in the room, too.
John watched Sam go. When the front door closed after the boy and the puppy, John turned to Dean. "Damn, Dean… I know you said he'd turned into a kid, but I didn't really… I wasn't prepared for that."
Dean sighed, and a lot of his strength seemed to go with the air in his lungs. "I know… it's wild."
John took a good look at his oldest son. Dean looked worn out. He looked like he'd been thinking hard and long. There was a pinch to Dean's lips and a particular furrow to his brow when Dean was flexing his mind instead of his muscles.
"You look tired, son," John noted.
Without a word, Dean went into the kitchen and came back with two beers.
Together, father and son wandered into the living room and plopped down on the couch side by side. They took a few drinks before John had to say something. "Dean…"
"Did you see Bobby outside?"
That was an odd first question. "No."
Dean stood. "He was supposed to be watching Sam while I was inside. I'm sure he's around the yard somewhere, but…" Without another word, Dean moved toward the front door. John had no recourse but to stand and follow his son outside.
Dean went to the railing of the porch and stood a long moment in silence with his back to John, holding his beer absently and watching Sam. Sam and the puppy were digging a hole together.
John stepped up beside Dean, puzzled by just how quiet Dean was. Dean could be a closed type with strangers, like a rescue dog who'd only grown to trust the new family that took him in after enough treats and kind words, but not with John. Dean opened up to his father.
He didn't really know what to do with a speechless, brooding Dean.
"Jovi, huh?" he asked to break the tense silence.
Dean nodded. "Sam named her."
"As in Bon Jovi, I presume."
"Yeah."
John watched the boy and puppy a moment. "I'm surprised you caved and let him get a dog."
Dean shrugged.
John shook his head. "You always were horrible at telling Sam no when he asked for something."
Dean cast John a look that honestly took the older hunter aback. It was sharp and accusing and gone in a second, so fast John wondered if he'd seen it at all.
For a moment, that awful, awkward silence was back.
Next time, Dean was the first to speak. "Bobby said you couldn't find a way to put Sam back the way he was."
Right to the jugular. It was so very Dean. John rested his beer on the porch rail, suddenly unable to swallow. "No, I… I couldn't. I tried, but…" Admitting failure to Dean burned so hot and deep in his soul.
Dean nodded faintly. "Bobby didn't think there was much hope of finding a fix to this."
"Bobby's usually right," John grudgingly admitted.
Dean sighed wearily and set his beer down on the railing with care. He dropped his chin to his chest and his shoulders sagged. It was a look of resignation that made John blink.
"What are you doing here, Dad?" Dean asked in a low, brittle voice.
John gaped. All acts aside, he knew Dean wasn't stupid. "Are you really asking me that? Why do you think I'm here?"
Dean didn't move at first, then he slowly lifted his head and looked over his shoulder at John. There was steel in the back of his look, a firmness John knew well. He'd counted on that kind of metal time after time on hunts with his son. Why it would show up in his eyes now John couldn't fathom.
John knew Dean was waiting for an answer. For all the times Dean followed him blindly, did as he was told, he earned the few answers he demanded. Most of the time.
"Look… I realize I made some mistakes with Sam," he said evenly. It was okay to say these things to Dean, because it had been Dean who cleaned up the mess from those 'mistakes' when Sam was growing up. John paused and collected himself. "If there's no way to turn Sam back to his proper age, then I'm going to make the most of it."
Dean stood to his full height and slowly, deliberately, turned to face John.
The steel was there again and John still didn't know why.
"I won't make the same mistakes with Sam this time," John vowed to his oldest. "I can do better with Sam. I will."
Dean just stared levelly. It was disconcerting. Why was he getting this from Dean? Usually, Dean was cracking jokes and just enjoying being with his father.
This Dean was somber and intense. "You just want to take Sam back into the life of hunting?"
John narrowed his eyes. He heard disapproval in that, and when he was pushed, John Winchester pushed back. "The thing that killed your mother is still out there," he growled hotly, "I know you haven't forgotten that."
"No sir."
"I know you agree with me, it has to die for what it did." Mary pinned to the ceiling, burning, bleeding.
"Yes, sir."
At least his son was still on the same page as him. John felt his testiness ebb. "I know what you're thinking, son, but I'll be smarter about it this time. I think I understand what it was Sam needed from me the first time. I mean to do it right this time."
Dean didn't answer. He didn't move.
John didn't like the mask. "What is going on, Dean?"
Dean looked out into the yard at Sam. John followed his gaze, baffled.
"Back on the road, kid in the back, on the hunt… just like it was before? That's what you'll do?"
Essentially, yes, that was exactly what John meant to do. Dean's voice held veiled contempt for John's plan. "I don't like your tone," John warned.
Dean gave him a look that said 'I don't care' and it made John falter. Sam gave him an attitude, not Dean.
Dean turned away from John and planted the heels of his hands on the porch rail, locked his elbows to let the rail take the weight of his upper body, and leaned forward. He watched Sam a long moment.
Then Dean spoke.
"You're not taking Sam."
John couldn't quite believe what he'd just heard. "Excuse me?"
Dean didn't move a muscle. He just said in a strong, unyielding voice, "I'm not letting you do that to him again."
John fumed. He never got this kind of insolence from Dean. From Sam, sure, but not his obedient and compliant oldest son. It rankled John. "In case you've forgotten, I'm his father. I'm not here to ask your permission, son."
Dean stood and slowly faced John again. Now John knew the justification for the steel. It was steel again him. "I won't let you take him." There was no quaver in Dean's voice, no hesitation or uncertainty. It wasn't open to negotiation as far as Dean was concerned. He meant just what he said.
John knew this uncompromising, brick-wall Dean existed, but he'd never been on the business end of it before.
There was a lion in Dean that only woke when it was to stand between Sam and whatever Dean considered a threat to him. It was a force of nature, a beast unto itself, and John had seen Dean stand against the most deadly dangers without batting an eye because Sam was behind him, counting on Dean to keep him safe.
Now John saw that force erected against him, holding him at bay from Sam.
"What makes you think you can stop me?" John asked darkly. He had a moment to wonder if this was really happening, if they were really fighting over Sam.
For half a second, John saw Dean tense. Like he meant to attack. It shocked the hell out of John. But in the next second, it passed and Dean's furrowed brow of thought returned.
"If you mean what you said about doing right by Sam this time, you won't try to take him."
"Is this more of that tripe about the hunt being no way to grow up? Because I'll have you know, this moment aside, I'm damn proud of how you turned out."
Half a smirk, gone in a split second, tugged humorlessly at one corner of Dean's mouth. "Sam's not me, Dad. Have you ever wondered what Sam might have been if you hadn't tried to make him me?"
John closed his mouth. Not really. Not in the sense that Dean was asking. He'd always seen Dean as the pinnacle, the goal, the best case scenario for Sam to live up to. He'd only really considered the alternative to everything Dean was as a testament to his own failure as a father.
"Sam has so much potential," John said lowly. "I only want to see him reach that."
Dean eyed John closely. "So do I… but I don't think we're talking about the same thing."
"And what makes you think me giving him to you would end up any differently?" John asked curtly.
Dean didn't respond.
John pressed on, "You're a hunter, just like me. Back of the Impala or the passenger side of my truck, how much difference will it really make in the end to Sam?"
Dean turned to face the yard again, eyes locked on Sam. "I'm not hunting anymore."
John's jaw dropped. He waited for Dean to waiver, to question, to falter, to doubt. He didn't.
"You don't mean that," John whispered.
Dean looked over at John and the determination in his eyes told John he did. "You don't think so?"
"Dean… you're one of the best out there. People need you. God knows I wish this wasn't the life for you, but it's what you do best."
"I'm better at one thing, Dad."
"What… cars?"
That humorless smirk tugged fleetingly at Dean's mouth again. "Taking care of Sam."
John was speechless. Speechless and struck dumb because he couldn't argue with that. And wasn't that the whole reason for this argument in the first place?
"Dad…" Dean began in a softer, more conciliatory voice, "I may be a good hunter, but you're better. I need you to kill that thing that got Mom."
John lived for little else. Next to revenge and his boys, there was nothing else to John Winchester.
Dean framed his fingers around his beer bottle with no intention of picking it up. "I won't let you take Sam from me," Dean said faintly but with just as much finality as before.
At the thought of Dean leaving with Sam, John was struck by the idea of losing them. For all the times he'd ditched his boys for their own good, right then he couldn't stand the idea of the three of them parting ways.
"Son, who said it has to be that way? We can all leave together. It will be like before, the three of us. We can be a family."
Dean was shaking his head from the moment John said 'leave together'. "No."
That was it. Just a soft-spoken, resolute 'no'.
"I can't let you take on the responsibility of being a parent to him, Dean. Sam's my son. It's not fair to you."
Dean locked eyes with John, and for that moment Dean's eyes looked older than his years. "It's all I know."
That took all the fight out of John in a single blow. Damn… Dean was right. All Sam's life, Dean had been a father to him in everything but name. That had only been a hollow title John had held.
John leaned heavily against the porch rail. He could not have imagined coming here and just giving Sam away like an unwanted kitten, but he suddenly realized that was exactly what he would do. John remembered every time when Sam was a baby that John had tried, and failed, to comfort a crying Sammy. He remembered every time old-before-his-time Dean had come up to him and held out his arms, "give him to me, Dad." John remembered every time John passed Sam off to his brother.
It was happening again, and John was going to hand Sam over, just like every time before.
"Are you sure about this?" John asked faintly.
Dean nodded. He licked his lips, his eyes flickered, then he said, "When you came in, I was online looking at job openings in California."
John was numb by that point. "California?"
Dean shrugged. "When Sam had a choice where he wanted to go, he went to California."
John took that in quietly.
"There are some decent positions in a few auto shops, mechanics, repair, stuff like that. You know how no one these days knows how to fix their own car. Always a need for a mechanic."
"You'll be good at that."
"I'll have to look into the school system before I choose a place for us to live. Sam loves school; I want to make sure he's in a good one. I mean for him to stay in the same school system all the way through high school."
John didn't know what to say.
Dean turned again to face John. For a moment, they just studied one another.
When Dean finally spoke, he said, "Don't fight me on this, Dad. Because I will, if I have to… but I don't want to fight you. You had your chance with Sam. Now it's my turn."
John looked out into the yard. He watched Sam and Jovi getting unspeakably filthy together, caked in dirt, the boy laughing and the puppy's tail wagging.
John felt every one of his years and then some. He sighed, looked up at his oldest son, and said, "I'm not going to fight you, Dean. For what it's worth, I know you'll do a hell of a better job than I did." It was hard to admit, but it was the truth, and John knew it.
A child's sudden wailing made both John and Dean look instantly toward Sam.
Sam was sitting on the ground, crying, holding his hand and a finger streaked with blood. Jovi was licking at it, trying to help. The sun glinted off a buried nail in the hole Sam and Jovi had been digging.
"Dad!" Sam cried.
John and Dean both moved to answer.
But John stopped and let Dean pass him. Dean moved down the porch stairs, covered the ground between the house and the boy quickly, and gently pushed Jovi aside to kneel in front of Sam.
"Let me take a look," Dean said, and Sam held his bleeding finger out to Dean.
Dean scowled at it. "It's not bad. Come on, kiddo, let's go get that cleaned up."
Sam wrapped his arms around Dean's neck and Dean stood, Sam stuck to him. He wrapped his arms around Sam and carried him back into the house. Already, just being in the safety and protection of Dean's arms, Sam's cries were lessening.
John didn't try to follow. This was on Dean now, and John wasn't going to interfere.
For a long time, John stood alone on the porch.
"Kid okay?"
John looked up and saw Bobby walking toward him.
"You were watching?" John asked.
"Told Dean I'd keep an eye on Sam. When you drove up… I figured you boys needed some time alone together. Sam okay?"
"Yeah… just cut himself."
The two grizzled hunters stood side by side a long moment in silence. John was the first one to speak. "Dean's going to take Sam."
Bobby nodded. "That's probably for the best."
John laughed, but there was no amusement in it. "Do you think I was that bad a father?"
"Nah… you were just what Dean needed. But Dean is what Sam needs."
"You really think this is a gift? What's happened to Sam?"
Bobby shoved his hands in his pockets. "Not sure… ask me in about five years. By then, I imagine Sam will give us the answer to that."
"I feel like I'm just turning my back on him," John confessed.
"You're doing this for him. If you ask me, makes you a damn good father if you see that your son will be better off somewhere else and you let him go… for his sake." Bobby tugged on the bill of his cap. "Can you stay a few days?"
John shook his head. "I have a lead in Washington… could be on the thing that killed Mary. I have to get up there before the trail goes cold." John paused. "Do something for me, Bobby?"
"What?"
"Look into real estate records in California."
Bobby gave John a puzzled look.
"Dean plans to move there, settle down, do the normal life thing. See if you can find a house or apartment for them built on the site of an old church."
"Hallowed ground," Bobby mused aloud.
"At least find a way that my boys can sleep safe at night. I think… I know, Dean can handle the rest."
"I'll get right on it."
John nodded mutely and stared out at the Impala. He tried to imagine her parked in a driveway, the same driveway, day after day, year after year.
He hoped like hell Dean could do this, because he knew that there was no way that John could in his place.
To Be Continued…