standing at the treshold

I wanted to write this for ages, and I decided that on my birthday I get to treat myself. Enjoy!

Sam had come to expect the unexpected, but he was still shocked when he went to open the door of the bunker, wary of who- or whatever had found their hideout, and saw John Winchester standing on the treshold.

Dad.

He’d been dead for nine years.

Sam stared.

Dad huffed. “Really, Sammy? I didn’t raise you to stand and stare at supernatural phenomena. I raised you to kill them.”

It sounded like Dad alright, and it was enough to snap Sam out of his stupor.

Five seconds later, Dad lay on the ground, and Sam had proven that he didn’t react to silver, salt, or iron.

“You got faster” he grumbled, clearly impressed, and Sam helped him up.

He shouldn’t have felt so ambivalent about showing their Dad into the only home they had ever truly known besides the Impala, but Sam couldn’t help it. Nine years, many threats to the world, an angel falling once and for all to hunt with them had changed the brothers and how they regarded their upbringing.

Even Dean had come so far to admit that Dad could have handled certain situations better.

Dean, he suddenly remembered.

His father apparently had the same thought.

“Where’s Dean?”

“Sleeping?”

“Still?”

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