Chapter Text
His dad was back. John Winchester was alive.
Sometimes Sam had to repeat that to himself a few times before he left his room in the morning.
Once he had bumped into his dad in the kitchen, terror and shock gripping at his heart as the repeating and manic thought of ‘Lucifer’ tumbled over and over in his trauma damaged mind. It had only been when John’s smile morphed into something verging on concern that Sam had been able to pull himself back, remembering that Lucifer wasn’t here, and John was alive before he could shake it off.
But it still felt awkward.
Dean swore he had told John nothing. Said it hadn’t felt right to have that talk without Sam there which Sam was grateful for. But a part of him wished that Dean had already done it. That Dean had already explained to their dad about the demon blood and Lilith and the apocalypse and Lucifer. And then the trials and purgatory and the mark and Amara without Sam having to be there. Without Sam having to see the look on his dad’s face.
He took a breath as he rounded the corner of the bunker hallway, seeing the door he was headed for slightly open ahead of him.
Sam knocked on the open door, waiting until John looked up before stepping gingerly into the small space.
“Hey Dad,” he murmured. “You, um… settling in?”
John eyed the spread of newspapers clippings on the wall and the dismantled gun on the bed before him.
“To a fashion,” he said with a small quirk of his lips.
Sam couldn’t help but return it. After so many years having only Lucifer’s version of his dad in his head he had forgotten about his dad’s humour. About how the feel of him in a room made Sam feel safe in a way that he hadn’t in a long time.
“Here, this might help.”
Before he could loose his nerve Sam stepped forward holding his hand out before him and the old beaten-up leather journal clasped within it. By the way John’s eyes widened slightly Sam knew he recognised it: John’s old journal.
John took it carefully, running his hands over the smooth brown leather casing.
“I’ve um… tried to keep it as up to date as I can,” Sam explained, watching as John flipped it open. “Things have been a little crazy so... We’ve learnt a lot. Done a lot too.”
John’s eyes scanned over the pages quickly, no doubt noting Sam’s annotations in the margins, the clarifications of things they had discovered over the years, the new ways to combat the creatures they had been fighting their whole lives.
Sam itched to say more but he didn’t. He just stood and watched as his dad flicked through the pages with interest.
“Sam, this is impressive,” John said after a moment, lifting his head from his pursual. “Curing a vampire bite?”
“Yeah,” Sam chuckled ruefully. “Had to learn how to do that the hard way.”
“You?”
“Dean,” he said succinctly. There was more to that story he could add, but John would read about it in the journal at some point. And Sam didn’t want to think about that time in their history, when he was the cold-blooded monster his father and brother had always feared he would become. “There’s more in the archives that I can show you later... if you want.”
“That would be good son. I’d like that.”
That was it. That was all Sam came here to do. With a small smile Sam turned, leaving his dad to his new space. But before he left Sam turned back one more time.
“Just when you’re reading...” he started, not quite being able to meet his dad’s eyes. “I know that I can’t excuse a lot of what I’ve done but... I’ve always tried to remember what you taught us. Tried to save people.”
John watched him shrewdly but nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Okay.”
Sam stood there for a moment more. He should really go now. He had stayed for long enough.
With one last awkward smile he turned to leave, but this time John’s voice stopped him.
“Sam.”
Sam turned back to his father. The journal had been placed carefully on the small desk and John took a careful step forward.
“You know with all the excitement I forgot something.”
Sam’s mind flicked quickly over the things that John might need. He had clothes, bedding, the kitchen was stocked, he had picked a favourite truck from the garage, he knew where the showers were, the armoury, the shooting range.
“What do you need?”
John took a step forward and then he was in Sam’s space and his arms were on Sam and it was tight.
Sam tensed instinctively, readying himself for fight or flight. It took his mind and body to recognise what was happening. A hug.
His dad’s arms were wrapped around him, his hand curled upward and half buried in the hair at the bottom of Sam’s neck. It was tight and secure and warm. Sam felt his eyes start to burn as he brought his hands up to his dad’s back in return.
“It’s good to see you again,” John murmured quietly.
Sam felt his breath stutter in his chest. John’s arms tightened around him.
“You did good Sam,” his dad said again. ”You did so well.”
“Dad,” Sam started, needing to explain. But John just gave him a gentle jostle, not loosening his hold.
“You beat him. You didn’t let him win.”
“It wasn’t enough,” Sam choked out, all his guilt and remorse clogging his throat. “It will never be enough.”
“It’s enough for me. I’m so proud of you.”
Something broke in Sam’s chest then, something old and painful. His breath hitched and he felt a small current of tears drip down his cheek. Blinking rapidly, he willed them back. ‘Don’t cry’, his dad had tutored him all through his childhood. ‘Tears don’t fix anything’.
When John pulled back Sam had managed to get himself under some modicum of control. His dad smiled cupping Sam’s face gives it a pat,
“Why don’t you go to bed. You’re still recovering. You should sleep.”
“Yeah,” Sam breathed, nodding in agreement. “Yeah I’ll leave you to it.”
Out in the hallway Sam took a breath. He probably looked a mess, eyes red and puffy from tears but his heart felt lighter in a way it hadn’t in years.
Footsteps echoing around the corner pulled Sam from his thoughts and he pushed away from the wall.
Dean’s eyes flashed from Sam’s face to their dad’s closed door and narrowed in concern. “Everything alright?”
Sam found his face pulling with a smile.
“Yeah,” he said to his brother. “Yes everything is good.”
And for once it was actually true.