Thinking about John, Dean, and Sam on a hunt when they’re younger. They’re hunting a demon, and John makes Sammy wait in the car, he thinks it’s safer that way.
He doesn’t realise there’s more than one. He doesn’t see that demon slide into the backseat of the impala and curl around his youngest boy. He doesn’t hear the whispering, the way it turns Sammy’s head to look at the bodies laying in the grass outside, and plants these ideas in the boy’s head that Dean is next.
Sam was different after that night, and the other two couldn’t figure out why. That boy was so against hunting, hell, he hated it more than anything. So why was he so interested in learning the tricks of the trade — Why was little Sammy staying up late at night, silently stripping, cleaning, and reassembling the guns John kept in the back of the impala?
John praised him for finally getting over his pacifism, for finding his killer instinct. He had no idea just how far his boy would go to protect Dean, how vicious and violent he would become.