Title: By His Own Admission
Disclaimer: I did not create the boys or their father or thier mother or Jessica.
Warnings: There are spoilers for the pilot.
Pairings: mentions of John/Mary, Sam/Jessica
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 735
Point of view: third
Sam, despite what he says in anger, does not hate his father. Resents him, sure, doesn't understand him at all, but hate?
That's a harsh word. He knows he's never felt it.
But resentment is enough to plant a tiny little bulb, a shoot of anger that courses through him every time another dream is dashed for Dad's vendetta.
o0o
But Sam is even more bullheaded than his father. He clings to his hopes, purely out of spite. Dad slams through his plans for school, so he just builds more. He goes out for soccer and he attends meetings for various groups, and he aces every test he takes.
Dean shakes his head in the kitchen, preparing jambalaya, one of their years in Louisiana. "He's not gonna let you, Sammy," he says.
Sam looks up from his script—the third play he's tried out for and made—and chuckles. "I know."
Dean glances over, meets Sam's eyes. "Then why do you keep doing this? You're poking a grizzly with a stick, Sam, and you just keep at it. Why do you always push him?"
Sam looks away, back down at the table. "Because… if I never try… if I never spread my wings—I'm not like you, Dean. I can't make him happy in the hunt, because I'll never measure up to you."
The spoon clatters on the stove and Dean strides over, raises Sam's chin with a gentle hand. "It's not a competition, Sam," he says firmly, softly. "It's never been a competition."
"Maybe not to you," Sam replies. "But for Dad, that's all it's been."
o0o
Sam cannot hate his father. He knows the man loves him, knows the man would die and kill for him. He knows Dad did the best he could, the best he knew how.
But in some cases, the best is not good enough. John never offered what Sam needed, only what he thought his son required. And perhaps for Dean, it was enough.
Sam doesn't think he should be blamed for wanting more.
When he walked away, he never meant to stay gone. He wanted to be able to visit on holidays, during the summer. But Dad—in his anger and pride, Dad told him to never come back.
Sam doesn't know, will never learn, that John cried that night and begged Mary's forgiveness. Come morning, though, he stood by his words.
o0o
John always told Sam to try harder, to run faster, to dodge quicker. To equal Dean, even though they all three knew he couldn't.
And Sam did, for the longest time, until he decided he wanted different rewards.
Dad's conditional respect was not enough for him. Dad's words were not enough, nor his proud smiles.
Dean could live off it, could even beg for it, but Sam… he just couldn't. He didn't think he should have to.
And Dad would be so angry, so disbelieving… and maybe even a little hurt, but Sam just couldn't care anymore.
o0o
So Sam packed his bags and left, planning on happiness and safety and normalcy. No matter what he screamed or thought in that final fight, he could not hate.
Dean's eyes as Dad and Sam nearly came to blows whispered of pain and fear, and of pride. He didn't speak, didn't get between them like every time before.
Sam knows he'll never ask forgiveness for everything he said, just like he knows his dad won't. Neither of them will grovel; neither will speak first.
And like always… they're not the ones who hurt the most. It's not fair, never can be—but Sam is not a hunter and doesn't want to be.
And he shouldn't be punished for that.
o0o
But Jessica never asked to be killed. Sam turned his back on the darkness, but the dark never turned its back on him, and now she's dead and Dad's missing and Sam's right back where he started.
With a gun in one hand, a knife in the other, a crusade stretching in front of him, anger humming in his blood, and his brother standing at his side.
He shouldn't be punished for wanting more, but he was. He walked away, thought he had a choice.
He could never hate his father, and doubts he'll ever fully understand him. But he does—he thinks maybe he understands a little more now.
