In Which there is a Bucket Load of Angst
When Alec first told him who he had found, Dean didn't want to believe it. It wasn't a matter of not wanting to see his father, because there were some moments over the past sixteen years where Dean wanted nothing more than to have his father point him in the right direction, to have some kind of family around if he couldn't have Sam. Dean wanted his father, but he didn't want to believe it was him, because there was far too much risk involved in putting his faith in that.
He knew what Alec said -- that he was human, and as far as Alec could tell it was really who he said he was. He trusted Alec. He did. But until he saw him with his own two eyes, he wasn't going to believe it was John. He almost didn't want to see it, because the chance of him being wrong was going to hurt far more than getting his hopes up would. But he was here anyway, staring at the door and wondering what his next move should be. Should he knock or walk away?
He stood there for a long moment, hands in his pockets, before slowly raising his hand to the door to knock, three quick raps before shoving his hands back into his pokcets again as he let out a slow breath. Here goes nothing.
He knew what Alec said -- that he was human, and as far as Alec could tell it was really who he said he was. He trusted Alec. He did. But until he saw him with his own two eyes, he wasn't going to believe it was John. He almost didn't want to see it, because the chance of him being wrong was going to hurt far more than getting his hopes up would. But he was here anyway, staring at the door and wondering what his next move should be. Should he knock or walk away?
He stood there for a long moment, hands in his pockets, before slowly raising his hand to the door to knock, three quick raps before shoving his hands back into his pokcets again as he let out a slow breath. Here goes nothing.