It Could Be Worse

John Winchester meets another dad at a bar after the big fight that drove Sam away. He realizes that his relationship with Sam could have been…so much worse.

"If you walk out that door, don't you ever come back!" I shouted. The silence was thick. Sam looked shocked. Dean was shaking. I was fuming.

The moment the words left my mouth, I wished I could take them back. But for the love of God! This is my son!

I want the best for him. I'm glad he got a full ride to Stanford. Nothing could make a man prouder.

And I was proud. So very proud. But when Sam told me he applied to school behind my back, and that he had been accepted, and that he was going. Pride wasn't what I felt when I heard the news.

It was fear.

Fear for Sam. Fear for whatever may go after him. I made the connection between him and the "special children" long ago. It was only a matter of time before his powers kicked in and if I wasn't there to help my son…

"Fine."

Sam adjusted his bag and opened the door, slamming it shut behind him.

Dean went upstairs to his room.

I should go after Sam. Apologize, tell him I want what's best for him. Tell him how proud I am to call him my son.

I don't. I'm still angry, but I'm more furious with myself than I can ever be with my children. I drive around until I find a bar, parking my car and entering the place. I sit at the bar next to a gentleman in a nice suit drinking whiskey.

I order a glass of whiskey myself, sitting a little ways away from the guy.

"Rough night?" I ask him.

He shrugged taking a gulp. "Just wallowing in shitty memories, I suppose."

I chuckled. "I know the feeling. You don't seem like the kind of guy that has shitty memories."

"'My kind of guy' does when they fail at their greatest job."

"Oh?"

"Let's just say I let someone I care about down."

"You're kid?"

"Son," he said. "He passed a few years ago. Drowned."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"What about you?"

"Same deal. Except my boy's still living. Got into college on a scholarship."

"And that's a bad thing."

"Let's just say I've seen a lot of shit. Enough to scare me out of my mind whenever my boy's concerned. So, rather than pat him on the back, I told him I didn't want him to go." The man ordered two more whiskeys for them. "What parent tells their kid not to chase their dreams?"

"Parents that know their children's dreams will get them killed some day. For as long as I could remember, my son wanted to be a sailor. I would have preferred he stuck to the family business." He rubbed his forehead, massaging a headache.

"We've fought so many times that after a while, I just…gave up. I couldn't do it anymore. Somewhere along the way, I stopped being his father. It was the biggest mistake of my life. We stopped speaking to each other and I never saw him again since until I got wind of his death."

I studied the guy. He seemed so young. Considering the way he spoke about his son, you'd have thought he was much older than he looked.

"Word to the wise," he said, "Don't worry so much about your son. He's a grown lad now. Best let him grow up so you don't end up over here some time later wallowing in pity."

He set down some cash and left the bar.

At least I'm not in his position.

My relationship with Sam may be strained to the limits—the kid's more rebellious than I was ever able to handle—but at least I knew my kid was alive and as long as we were both alive, there was a chance I could ask Sam to forgive me for failing him in whatever way I did.

I tried. That's the most I can offer.

It could've been much worse than it was.

AN: A cookie for whoever guesses who the other dad is :)