Disclaimer: The characters of Supernatural do not belong to me.

A/N: Hey guys and gals! Sorry it's been so long. I've had a massive dry spell in terms of writing, but hopefully that's starting to end now. This story is my story The Quality or State of Being Real told from Sam's point of view. Though it is not necessary to read that story to understand this one, it would definitely help as this story is not as detailed concerning what John did as that story is. For those who wish for it, here's a short version-John is in jail after being arrested and convicted for being a serial killer. He's on death row and his execution date has been set.

Hope everyone is doing well!

"Hey, Sammy boy. We need to talk."

The last time Sam had heard those words, he'd been fifteen years old with his head bent over a math book. The clarity of that one specific day was surprising to Sam. The years before had their clear moments, both good and bad memories. But that one particular day, where Dean would deliver the blow that would change both their lives forever, everything was clear. Sam had been late to school that day, something that happened so rarely Dean hadn't even been mad. He'd left work to get Sammy, take him to school, then simply laughed and told him to be more careful next time. Sam had taken and passed a pop quiz in his biology class that day. Little things stood out from that day that would have meant nothing to him before.

Sam remembered not really feeling anything at first when Dean had broken the news. He'd just had lots of questions, all of which Dean was prepared for. Where would they live? Right where they were living right then. What would happen to Sam? Nothing buddy, you'll stay with me. What would change? Not a thing, Sam. Then came the deeper questions, the ones that Dean wasn't so ready for. Why had Dad hurt all those people? I don't know, buddy. I kind of miss him, is that wrong? No, it's not wrong, Sam. Will I turn out to be like Dad? Absolutely not, though Sam had noted that there was a waver in Dean's voice when he said that.

Dean had done his best to make sure that Sam could grow up away from the spotlight that his father's actions shone on the two of them. There was no way to completely shield him from it, as John's arrest took over the front page of the newspapers for weeks. But more than once, Dean had fought off reporters that showed up to the house wanting to ask the two of them questions so that Sam could study. Dean had threatened a bully that tormented Sam for weeks at school about 'your murderer dad'. When John had asked to see Sam, Dean had made it clear that it was Sam's choice and he didn't have to do it if he didn't want to.

That had all been a little less than ten years earlier, and to Sam, it meant one thing. Dean was the reason his life was as normal as it was.

But the look on Dean's face at that moment scared him. He wanted to ask a million questions, but couldn't get them to come out. Sam closed the book he'd been reading and turned to his brother, hoping for the best but preparing for the worst. Dean took his seat next to Sam on the worn couch, burying his face in his hands and preparing himself to deliver the blow he knew was coming.

"Dean, what is it?" Sam asked. "What's wrong?"

Dean took a long look at Sam before deciding to just spill the truth. "I went to see Dad today."

Sam was surprised. As far as he knew, it had been years since Dean had been to visit his father. "Why?"

"He asked me to." Dean explained. "Said he had something he needed to tell me."

"What?" Sam asked. "Does he have another appeal coming up or something?"

"No. This is it, Sammy."

"What do you mean? What's it?"

"They set a date. It's happening, Sam. Dad's getting executed in a little over a week."

Shock took over. His dad's death had been hidden away in a dark corner of Sam's mind. He'd known it was coming, but he'd refused to deal with it. Now, it seemed, he had no choice. Sam knew that Dean was still talking, but he had no idea of what was being said.

Long buried memories fluttered to the surface of Sam's mind. Being upset that John hadn't come with him to his first day of school, only to run into his father's waiting arms when the school bell released him a few hours later. Going to the zoo with his dad that summer while Dean stayed at home with a babysitter, being thrilled by the penguins and giraffes and tigers and all the other creatures that had captured his imagination that year. Riding on John's shoulders and feeling like the strongest kid in the world. John putting a band-aid on his skinned knee with one hand while wiping away a tear with the other. Those memories had brought Sam comfort in the past, but now he felt only one thing.

Betrayal.

How was it fair that only Sam-and Dean, he supposed, though Dean rarely talked about his good memories of Dad-had gotten to experience the soft and tender side of their dad? Had their mother known what their father was really like? How many people's last moments had been taken by the monster that the media had shown their father to be? Had John ever wanted to hurt him and Dean the way he'd hurt all those other people?

"Sam?"

Dean's voice shook Sam out of his thoughts. "Yeah?"

"I said do you want to do it?"

"Sorry. Kinda went to my own world there for a second. Do what?"

Dean sighed, though not in the exasperated way he did sometimes that meant he was losing his patience. "Dad wants to see you. You don't have to say yes or no now, but the prison needs an answer in five days."

Sam nodded. "I'll think about it. I'm, um…gonna go for a walk."

"Sure. I'm probably going to Sally's for dinner. You want to meet me there in an hour?"

Sam agreed. Sally had been Dean's girlfriend since Sam's junior year of high school, maybe even longer than that. She'd been there with the two of them throughout John's arrest and trial, and she'd been there with Dean more than once when Dean woke him up from a nightmare. Sally was the closest thing to a mother that Sam had known, and Sam hoped that the two of them would never break up. Sam knew that Dean would talk to Sally before going over there, so he hoped that the three of them would be able to come up with a plan on what to do over the next few days.

Sam decided three days later that he didn't want to see his dad in person, but he did want to talk to him. Dean arranged a phone call, and promised that he'd be there the whole time if Sam wanted. A week after breaking the news to Sam about what was going to happen, the two of them were seated at the kitchen table, Dean's cell phone on speaker as the ringing seemed to go on and on forever. Dad's lawyer was there, a man that Sam had only met once and didn't bother to remember the name of, before the voice that had haunted Sam's dreams came on. Sam heard John swallow thickly before finally greeting him.

"Hi, son."

Sam flinched slightly at son, but pushed it away. This was the last chance he had to talk to his father. No matter how much he hated John, if he didn't take this chance, he knew he'd regret it.

"Hi, dad."

A few seconds dragged on awkwardly before John asked, "Dean tells me you're doing good in college. What are you studying?"

The conversation flowed a little easier over the next few minutes, with Sam catching John up on the broad strokes of the last decade. He'd graduated high school at the top of his class, gotten into college on a full scholarship, and was now deciding between prelaw and premed. John told Sam how proud he was of him, and Sam almost thought he could hear sincerity in his father's voice. After two minutes of small talk, Sam wondered what else there was to say. Apparently, John decided to fill in the silence.

"Sam, I know this probably doesn't mean much, but I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, son."

Sam wanted to rage. He wanted to yell and scream and punch his father through the phone line. What did sorry mean to him? How did he think that sorry was supposed to take away...anything? But that part of Sam was buried by the part of the little boy that just wanted his daddy back.

"Sam?"

"I'm still here." Sam said, his throat painful with emotion.

"I don't blame you if you do, but I hope you don't hate me, Sam. I love you so much. I always have, son. Whatever happens, please just don't doubt that. I love you so much."

Sam was hurting so much now he wondered if he was still breathing. "I love you too, Dad."

"I told Dean some things when he was here. He'll tell you all the details, but I left you some money for school. It's not much, but hopefully you can use it for books or something."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, buddy." A knock and a voice in the background made Sam's heart thump slightly. "Sam, I have to go. My time's up, buddy."

"Okay, Dad. Bye."

"Bye, son."

A dial tone sounded briefly before Dean's phone hung itself up. Sam was barely aware of what was happening around him before he felt Dean wrap his arms around him and assure him of the things he'd been telling Sam for years now. They'd be okay. They'd get through this. He loved Sam and always would. They'd gotten through so much before now, why wouldn't they get through this too?

Sam was in a daze for the next three days. Dean contacted Sam's school and explained there'd been a death in the family and Sam wouldn't be able to start the semester on time. His professors had all been understanding, promising to work with Sam when he did return to school. Sam, who would normally have been angry with Dean for 'interfering in my life' was instead grateful. Sally was a constant presence at the house, comforting Sam and Dean in turn. She cooked meals for them, cleaned the house, and even took the day of the three days before and after the execution off work to be there with them.

The night finally came, and Sam refused to turn on the cable that day. He turned off the cable box and he, Dean, and Sally watched movies instead. They watched three different comedies, which had them in tears from laughing instead of sadness or fear. It was a feeling Sam would come to savor.

The next morning, Sam woke and for a moment forgot where he was. Sally was asleep in Dean's recliner, he'd fallen asleep on the couch, and Dean was standing in front of the window in the living room. The sun was just starting to come up, and Sam didn't say anything at first. He saw Dean wipe at his face, and immediately knew what happened. Dad was gone. Dad was gone, and Dean had been awake and alone when he got the news. Knowing Dean wouldn't feel like talking just then, Sam thought about rolling over and going back to sleep.

But, as the good memories of John had disturbed Sam days earlier, the good memories of Dean helped Sam know what he should do.

Dean at age nine leading Sam up to the door of his kindergarten class. Helping Sam every time they moved to adjust to new people and new schools. Being a buffer when he and John fought to keep the fights from getting out of hand. Encouraging Sam with his academic pursuits when he felt as if his father didn't care. Telling Sam when he was older that, even though it made him a chick, it was okay to still cry when he was hurting.

Just being there in general, no matter how bad their lives were going at the time.

"Dean."

Dean jumped a little and turned around. "Hey, Sammy."

Sam knew Dean was preparing to deliver the bad news to him, but decided to save him for once. "I'm hungry. You want some pancakes?"

Dean smiled. "Sure, Sammy."

"I'll make 'em. Just let me splash some water on my face first."

"I don't think so, bitch. I appreciate the thought, but last time you tried to cook breakfast, you lit the kitchen on fire."

"That was five years ago!"

"You can do the dishes after." Dean said.

Sam pretended to be mad, but chuckled and grinned. "Whatever. Love you, jerk."

"No chick flick moments, bitch. Come on, let's go."