James Walsh lived with his older sister and his parents in a large house in the subrubs. They went to church every sunday, they were nice to everybody in their neighborhood, his mother would make him bake cookies with her to deliver to people up and down the road they lived by and there was hardly ever conflict involving them.
Today was a special day. And it wasn’t just special to him, but his father, too. Dean Winchester, who only lived a few houses down the road was his father’s best friend. They’d known each other since James was little and so he grew up knowing Dean would always be there with him. And he had been until recently. Dean had been gone, had temporarily moved miles away and all that because of work. James hadn’t seen him in so long he missed him badly and so even the announcement of a party with many many people didn’t completely scare him away.
He was dressed in dark jeans and a white button down (his mother had chosen it) and quite impatient. There were many people roaming the house already, but the person everybody was waiting for had yet to arrive. When the door opened again and James saw his father hold open his arms, he beamed and stood, rushing over, too.