I Hate You
SPN fic: Prompted by the mentioning of Flagstaff in season five's Dark Side of the Moon. I do not own Supernatural, the CW, or the boys. Sadly.
Watch the Peoples' Choice Awards tonight to see if Supernatural won an award!
Ages- Sam: 11, Dean: 15
Sam and Dad had another argument tonight. Great. Dad wants Sam to grow up. Sam wants to be a kid. Does anyone ask Dean what he wants? Of course not. That'd make Dean's life way too simple.
Oh god, I'm talking in third person.
Why does it have to be tense all the damn time? I hate it. I want my family to get along. Is that such a crime? I want Sam to be a kid, and Dad to be a dad. I also want Mom to be here. I miss Mom.
That's another one of those things I'll never get. My 'Never Get' list is longer than most peoples' pro and con lists.
I walked into the bedroom, away from Dad and his dangerous moods. Sam was lying face down on the bed, silently crying. It suddenly occurs to me that silent crying is the only type of crying allowed in the Winchester family. My heart flip-flopped as I processed my kid brother crying on the bed.
I sat down on my bed (which is next to Sam's) and reached out to comfort him.
"Don't. Touch. Me." Sam's tear-choked, angry voice broke out. I flinched, and quickly withdrew my hand like he'd burned me.
Sam looked up, his face and eyes abused from all the tears. He was angry; that was understandable. I could feel the old familiar enemy, our argument that had been performed for so long we could probably enact it in our sleep. Sure, the words had changed over the years. But it always ended with the same sad notes.
"Why didn't you stick up for me, Dean?"
"I-I did. You just didn't hear me." I stammered, my heart thumping wildly in my chest. 'Go ahead, Dean. Lie to the only person who truly gives a shit about you.'
"No you didn't. You just told us to stop like you always do."
"He stopped, didn't he?"
"I didn't want him to stop! God, why do you ALWAYS listen to him?"
Because the last time I didn't, you almost died, Sammy. But I didn't say that. I never say that.
"Because he's Dad, and he knows what he's talking about." I said, looking down at the frayed, stained carpet that probably hadn't been changed since 1943 which is when this house seemed to be built.
Sam huffed a huge sigh. "No. You're just afraid of him. But, I'm not. Not anymore."
I stood still, feeling my face grow hot. I didn't have a comeback. I didn't have a comeback to that. "Sam…I…" "Just leave me alone, Dean!"
I sighed, and rubbed the tense part of my neck. "Sam, I just…" "Leave! I don't want you here!" I froze, and quickly got up off the bed, leaving the room.
I walked outside, in only my pajama pants and a thin shirt. I felt around for my pack of cigarettes hidden somewhere on me. Finding one, I lit it with shaking hands. The sting of rejection being replaced by the tang of nicotine. Somehow, I fell asleep outside. I know this because I woke up to my dad shaking me awake. "Hey, dude, go to bed before you freeze solid out here." He said, smiling that familiar crooked, half smile. I nodded, walking half-asleep to the bedroom Sam and I shared. I didn't turn on the light. I just fell in a mindless heap on my unmade bed. Sam was peacefully dreaming away next to me. Thank God, because I so didn't want to have to deal with all that crap right now.
I must fall asleep at the drop of a hat, because the next thing I know, Dad is shaking me awake again. "Hey, Dean. Wake up. Caleb called; he needs my help on a hunt in Fresno. I'm headin' out now, so watch out for Sammy." I nodded, still sleep-ridden. My eyelids drooped shut again, and I was off to Dreamland.
During a wonderful dream about making out with some current, no-name girl in some current, no-name school. Mandie, Sandie, Brandie…something like that. I suddenly felt something bright shining in my eyes. Figuring that Sam was shining a light in my eyes or something, I immediately groaned, and rolled over. "Dammit, Sammy…" I moaned. No smartass response. I cracked one eye open, and realized it was the sun streaming in through my window.
Looking to my left, I noticed that Sam wasn't there; his bed neatly made. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, and rose up out of bed. I didn't hear any sounds from the living room/ kitchen area, so I gently opened the door and walked out of the bedroom. I padded down the hall in my now gray, dingy socks and entered the main room. Expecting to see Sam reading at the table like always, I was shocked when he wasn't there.
"Sam? Sammy? You there, bro?" I called loudly. But, only my voice was heard. No response, no sniffling from quiet tears. Just unfriendly silence. Still nothing. I ran back into the room, quickly opening the closet. Sam's clothes were gone. I checked all my hidden stashes of money—there are six hidden stashes. Only two were still there.
"Dammit, Sam!" I groaned for the second time since I'd woken up. Sam had run away. Great.