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'Hey, Sammy' mumbled John, a little stunned. His second-born was always more emotional than he was, and unafraid of expressing anything, and John always felt crippled, inadequate by it. He wanted to say things, but the words were slippery in his mouth and never, ever sounded the way he wanted them to.
Objects and their purpose - they were something John could handle. So this is what he could offer: the smell of the night air, the smoke around him, and two strong arms to surround his son with.' -
Bookmark Notes:
Soft John winchester, dude. I’m sobbing. Screaming too. Thanks!