Spoilers: All currently aired episodes ( specifically Hunter Herioci)

Disclaimer: I don't own supernatural, trust me if I did it would be all brother feelings and gore.

Author's Note: This was an idea that has been nagging at me since the start of the season. I think Sam's year was an escape from reality, the reality of his brother's disappearance and himself. I wanted to capture how different characters perceived his charade. Starting with Amelia's father. I have a couple people already in mind. But if people have suggestions for other perspectives, Im game.

Lies and Duct-tape: Amelia's Father

He said he wasn't a veteran. That was the first lie he told me. He had served somewhere even if it wasn't in a uniform, you don't get those eyes from a life spent at peace; I should know I've seen them on my own face every day for the last thirty years. If I had any doubt his reaction to my insult of his father confirmed my suspicion that he was not a man of peace. I saw the twitch of his fist and the aborted movement towards his waist and the gun that should have been there; both were almost imperceptible, but I had seen them in other veterans to know what they meant. He was not far out of the trenches, I would bet my life on it. Against my will i was already betting my daughter on it if the glare my baiting produced from my daughter was any indication.

His second lie was not unrelated as it was a lie of omission; the omission of his life between Stanford and Amelia. I became initially suspicious during our dinner when I told an amusing anecdote for Amelia's childhood; his absorption seemed natural at first, the natural interest of a boyfriend, but the flash of envy and desolation that I glimpsed during it took me aback. His laugh at the end of the telling, while genuine to some extent, also rang of overcompensation as if he had sensed his slip. There was a moment of silence, in which most people would have offered their anecdote, while Sam just stayed silent unwilling to volunteer even that much of an insight into his life. Or maybe he no longer realized that it was expected of him; he played the role of observer much more fluidly than of participant. I mentally reviewed our previous interactions and realized that he was indeed very good at deflection and letting innocuous details out to allay suspicions. There was substance missing from his stories and a subtle hesitation before answering anything personal that convinced me that he indeed was an expert at such lies of omission and that these lies were a constant stream in his life with my daughter. Such expertise could not be gained easily; it hinted at a troubled past that might also why memories of a happy childhood could trigger such emotions of envy and desolation. Usually, I would respect a man's decision to keep his life private, Heavens knows I have my share of secrets, but this man had wormed his way into my daughter's life. His secrets affected Amelia and thus were my business.

I had a faint hope that his reticence was that of a cautious man with a virtual stranger, borne more out of a desire not to have to shatter Amelia's bubble than any true evidence from Sam. But my careful and not so careful prodding at Amelia failed to allay my fears. She knew as much as I did, he went to Stanford, but dropped out, he wandered the country with his brother doing some kind of family business before his brother died and then he ran, "just like me" she added as if that made them the same. As if by virtue of being broken they somehow matched. I could see even if my daughter refused to that his past haunted him and I knew his ghosts would get better of him against his best intentions; you only can live a lie for so long and this boy was already living on borrowed time.

When she had first told me of Sam, she had mentioned their mutual brokenness and I remember scoffing at her mentally for equating the loss of a husband to that of a brother; I had lost siblings before and knew the pain, but that paled in comparison to when I imagined losing my wife. Amelia once said that her world ended when she lost Don, but even she knew that for the hyperbole it was even if she had forgotten that for a time; in Sam I saw a hint of how such a loss might look. I love my daughter and I know Don's death was devastating, but what I glimpsed in Sam's eyes when he finally mentioned his brother was not simple grief or even my daughter's devastation, but something deeper that made both seem insignificant. It was as if he had literally lost the world leaving him a virtual ghost going through the motions of life. Any other time such a look and signs of pain would have engendered sympathy, but not when this broken shell was with my daughter.

When we got the call about Don, part of me was relieved, even as I saw that mask of contentment fall from Sam's eyes to reveal for a second the entirety of the desolation I had only previously glimpsed. It shamed me the pain I saw in those hazel depths, but not for long. My priority was my daughter and I knew that this stranger with his lies and hidden pain could only bring her further heartbreak.

As I left that night I knew Sam would leave because he was a good man if a broken one, not despite his lies and hidden pain, but because of even with them he gave my girl a comforting smile, while his temporary world fell apart. So that call meant, the burden was off me. I didn't have to tell my daughter that the man she had fallen in love with and helped her heal was still irreparably broken; all her love for him and his for her was mere duct tape and the cracks were starting to show.