Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Kripke/the CW. No money is being made.
This fic was, ultimately, inspired by the pilot - because even though he isn't officially John's son anymore, Sam still has that picture on his dresser. Doesn't exactly scream detachment, does it?
Soundtrack: Staind - So Far Away
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It Only Hurts When I Breathe
Sam called John sometimes when he was at Stanford. He slipped away from his roommate or his friends or later Jess, found a pay phone somewhere. He dialed numbers that had been disconnected ages ago and talked to his Dad while listening to a polite voice informing him that the person he called wasn't available. He told him lots of stuff – mundane things like how his classes were, that his roommate snored almost as bad as Dad did. He talked about Jessica for a whole ten minutes once and later couldn't remember how often he'd said "You'd like her". He joked about how the food in the cafeteria was almost as bad as Dean's cooking or how his classmates actually thought the scars on his hands came from kitchen accidents. Little things that Sam had always told Dad whenever he could, no matter how many miles were between them. Sometimes there was bigger stuff, too. Things like "I hate you". "I love you", sometimes. Maybe even "I miss you". And sometimes, he even whispered "I'm sorry", but only after he'd hung up.
He called his real number once by accident and didn't realize his mistake until he heard the gruff "Yeah" at the other end of the line. He slammed the receiver down immediately and stood for what seemed like forever, leaning against the booth with his heart thumping in his throat and his fingers shaking. He tried to tell himself that Dad had completely forgotten about it, but sometimes he thought he remembered that call, that he knew it was Sam. Sometimes he even thought that maybe Dad had heard him sob.