Sam, and Dean, took a moment to steady the furniture out and right everything as best as they could. Dean was grimacing when he looked at the burn marks on the wall, moving his jaw from side to side.
"I'll clean up the rest." he told her. "You go check on the kid."
Sam turned her head to look at the direction that Johnny had gone, nodding. Slowly she walked down the hallway towards her room where Johnny had barricaded himself.
He liked to go to her room more than his own, he actually slept there more often than not too. She wasn't anywhere near to complaining, she liked the company and the warmth. Dean also joined them at times, making it a bit of a tight squeeze but all the more comfortable despite it.
Reaching her room she took a deep breath, knocking on the door to give Johnny a heads up. "It's me." she said, giving him another moment before she opened it, stepping inside.
Johnny was hidden under the covers, a lump tightly wound in the blanket in the dark of the room. She turned the lights on and crossed the room to sit at the edge, noticing that he flinched when she did so.
"You're not in trouble and I'm not mad, no one is mad." she told him when he didn't say anything. "You didn't do anything bad."
"...I hurt you." he whispered, his voice barely audible. "And I was destroying everything. You just...you just wanted me to move the pencil but...I did something worse."
"You didn't do anything worse and you didn't hurt me." Sam told him, looking down at her hands. He had hurt her at the time, but it was more from his gripping at her and not letting go that hurt, he didn't burn her, he didn't break skin, he hadn't done anything.
It had just been terrifying at the moment, none of them had expected such a thing to happen.
Least of them all, Johnny.
"I want to tell you something about actions that end up hurting someone or scaring them." Sam told him. "A great deal of it matters about the intent. Sometimes even when we want the best, and we try to get the best, we end up hurting some people. It's still bad, I'm not gonna lie, but when you didn't want to hurt anyone, didn't want anything bad to happen, that means a lot."
Johnny was silent for a few moments before the lump under the blanket shifted until his head was poking out from between the folds. She smiled at him, reaching out to stroke at his hair.
"I didn't want to do that." he whispered, leaning into her touch. "I really didn't, I just wanted to move the pencil."
Sam nodded, scooting closer to lay down on the bed with Johnny, curling a bit more into him. "I know. And so does Dean." she said. "We're not mad, I promise."
Slowly Johnny started to half crawl from under the blanket, curling into her arms and chest. Sam tucked him against her, rubbing his back comfortingly.
"Why did it happen?" he asked her, clinging to her. "All I wanted to do was move the pencil, why did that happen?"
"I think it's because...you're too powerful." Sam told him, stroking at his hair. "You haven't been using your powers at all, you've been pushing it down. So today when you gave it an outlet, even a small one, everything kinda just rushed forward and exploded."
"From what I remember, it's something like another sense of yours including the five senses." she continued. "And to hold it back doesn't do you any favors, you need to let it out. You need to let go. And most of all, you need to learn to focus and control it. It's just like moving your arm or using your ears, you just need to know how to do it and until you do, you have to just keep practicing."
Johnny listened quietly to her, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "Mom?" he asked quietly, looking up at her. "Do you have powers?"
Sam hesitated at that, thinking back to when she and Ruby had been working together, all the demon blood that she had drunk to make her powers work.
"I used to." she finally said. "And at times it got the better of me because I was afraid of it and what it meant. My powers came from something dark inside of me that I wanted to ignore. And then when I couldn't, I just wanted to use it for good."
Johnny's eyes went wide at that, widening in horror. His hand came up to his chest and he swallowed hard. "But mine come from a bad place too," he whispered. "They came from him, and I don't want to be like him."
"And you're not going to be." Sam told him firmly, reaching out to cup his face and tilt it up so that their eyes met. "So long as you don't want to be, so long as you're afraid of becoming like him, you never will. You're you John, no one else. And no one can make you what you don't want to be."
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