Go check on your brother. He hated
John said that. It usually meant that he
was sorry about whatever he’d shouted
at the twelve year old, but was too big-
headed to swallow his pride and go see
how he was himself. So he sent Dean to
dry little Sammy’s eyes and tell him it
would be okay, that their father wasn’t
really mad.
Dean would have thought the room
was empty, had it not been for the soft
sniffles and whimpers coming from the
corner of the room. Dean walked over,
sitting down on the floor next to his brother.
❝He didn’t mean it, okay?
Dad loves you. He’s just got
an… Odd way of showing it.❞
"Shut up, Dean." Sam didn't want
to hear any more. He hastily wiped
a few angry tears from his face, not
looking at his brother.
He hated when he and his father fought,
but it happened more often than not. It
always left Sam feeling empty and wrong
but the pattern continued.
"I'm fine, okay?" His voice was thick
with tears, but he didn't want to seem
weak. Not in front of Dean. The argument
had been a stupid one anyways.
But was it really so wrong? To want to stay
in one place like a normal person? Sam wasn't
sure anymore. He wasn't sure of much these days.
But he did know one thing--he'd never go into the
"family business."