#samdj

Sam’s in his forties when he finally understands his father. He drinks himself sick over it, but then he’s got one arm slung around DJ’s shoulders as his son walks him to bed.

He’s done enough research over the years. There’s a time in adolescence you’re supposed to develop a better sense of empathy, get out of your head and see yourself as part of the world rather than the center of it. He doesn’t know whether it’s a result of his childhood or or outside demonic and celestial influence or just a case of biology, but Sam’s always had to work for that, to put himself in someone else’s shoes, to care—really care, not like a face he’d put on for a teacher or a waitress or a witness, care like Dean always did, half-raw wounds under a piss poor veil of nonchalance. 

He always had trouble with John. Not loving him, that was neither easy nor hard, just there, even through vicious fights. But where he could pull it together for Dean and Jess his dad was always unreachable, outside of understanding, even when Sam agreed with his mission or methods.