Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural nor the hotel used. I just 3 love the series :) John is 41, Dean is 17 and Sammy is 12. Feb 17th 1995, Place: Lawrence, Kansas.
Books, books and more books. you would think something as simple as a ghost of a dead girl, Mary something or other, would be easy to find. I should have went with dad, but Sammy does have a fever so... "Dean? "
"Dam Sammy. For a twelve year you sure know how to sneak up on a person. Aren't you suppose to be asleep? It's almost eleven at night."
"I um, h-had a nightmare." There he goes whispering again. Probably about clowns. I hope he gets out of this shy stage soon. Poor Sam.
"Sam, I've told you before if it bleeds you can kill it. And besides, clowns are suppose to be funny and make you laugh, not make you cry and go running."
"It's not clowns. It was, um, ***."
"It was what? Come on Sam, speak up."
"Mom OK. It was Mom, She told me it was my fault she died and that it was my fault we live from town to town, from hotel to motel. That we live in hell and why dad treats you so harshly and me like I'm a kid. A-a-and she's right." Seriously brother.
"Sammy, come here. It wasn't your fault. It was a demon's. A yellow eyed creepy son of a bitch. Sam, he tried to kill you an mom said no. The hotels and motels are just the hand we were given because dad won't try and get a job so we can have a place to call home and dad acting like he is, that' just dad. Shit happens. Doesn't make it your fault. It will be OK. We will get through it."
"But I was the reason the demon killed her. I could have done something but I just laid there like a baby and cried."
"You WERE a baby. You were only six months old Sammy. Stop blaming yourself, please." Please Sam, I don't want you growing up thinking things like this. Please listen to your big brother.
"He should *cough* killed *cough* me dammit. *coughing fit* Big brother, please..." Time to check his temperature again. Now where did I put the...Oh yeah under my bed. *cough* *cough* Dammit, hurry up Dean. BINGO!
"Here Sam, you know the drill."
"Dean, please listen."
"First this. then listen."
"Fine. But then..." Ha, now maybe you will stop this bullshit talk for a minute. I hope his fever has went down. Knowing dad we will be leaving as soon as he is finished with that ghost and right now, Sam is to sick to go anywhere.
"Dean."
"Hmmmm, 101.9. Shit, it's went up."
"Dean, I know it's my fault, but why have mom tell me. and why replay that dream or night or whatever the hell it was, over and over when I fall asleep. I hate it Dean. It leaves me feeling empty and alone and, and, and. I'm soooooorry Mom."
"Sam, Sammy. Shut up. IT'S. NOT. YOUR. FAULT. NO. MATTER. WHO. SAYS. IT. IS. Understand? No matter if it's dream mom, or ass dad or that kid Adam Lee, or even if I get a hair up my ass and yell at you and say it is, it isn't." I push him to our bed we are sharing. "Now. Quit crying and please, please get some rest. You need it baby. OK?"
"Yeah. OK brother. Thank you." Finally bed time. "I love you jerk."
"Love you too bitch. Go to sleep."
"I'm sorry Dean."
