chosethearena
Surprise. Disbelief. Anger. Heartache.
They all flew across his face in an instant. Figures his father would just show up, lurking in the dark like some kind of noir hero, rather than just calling like a normal person.
He smoothed his face into something blank and shrugged off his jacket, not quite looking at John. “What’re you doing here?”
The kid’s got a goddamn mouth, always did. you’d figure Dean with his leather jacket and fuck-you attitude would be the one who’d always be fighting him; but no. It’s Sam. The sweet kid, the youngest, that fights John every step of the way. Anger churns in the pit of his stomach before he gets a hold of it, shoves it down under everything else he tries to ignore.
“Is that any way to greet your old man?”
