7:55 pm
Sam’s in the bathroom crying. Dean’s got his forehead pressed against the outside of the door, knocking softly.
“Please, Sammy, let me in. Just me, come on…”
But Sam does not answer. His crying is quiet and subdued.
John’s still in the chair by the window. The cigarette, still between his fingers, has gone out. He doesn’t notice.
He puts his head in his hands.
“I’m sorry, Sammy,” he says in a whisper so small even Dean doesn’t hear.












