"He's not even 21!"

"It was a tough hunt. Give your brother a break."

"But-!"

"Bedroom. Do your homework, Sam."

He huffed, but resigned, Sam retreated to his bedroom. Fine. Whatever. Far be it from Sam to give a crap if Dean got arrested for underage drinking.

When it should be dad giving a crap, not a thumbs up!

Although, considering things, it all kind of made sense. Even if he was pissed, Sam got it.

November 2, 1998. Fifteen year anniversary of mom's death. Which explained the (not so) faint scent of whiskey coming from dad.

Dad wasn't a drunk by any means. Sam could pretty much count on one hand the number of times he'd seen his father truly plastered. A drink here or there, sure, but in general dad was very much a control freak. In every sense of the word.

Still, on a night like tonight, Sam wanted his brother around. Even if the hunt had been a mess – from what they'd told him at least. He'd been left behind for this one but it didn't matter. Dean shouldn't be out tonight, blowing off steam or not.

Why'd Dean had to run off to a bar anyway? Sam wasn't really eager to see his big brother follow in dad's anniversary 'tradition.' Dean followed him in every other possible way, though, so this was probably one of those fights Sam wouldn't win.

In the end, it didn't matter all that much. Dad'd probably knock one more back and then go to bed early. Dean would probably be back late (if at all. He'd been eying a waitress earlier and gotten her number).

So fine. Sam'd do his homework, read, and then go to bed. And tomorrow everything would be back to normal. Great.

He opened his book and stared at the words a while. Processed nothing. His eyes were doing that thing, scanning words and blurring them into squiggles.

He couldn't help it – it was a Monday night. He had school in the morning. Would Dean wake up in time to take him? Well, no. Not if went with that waitress.

Dad then? Weird – dad hadn't driven him to school ever since Dean got his license –actually, even a few months before then.

Sam kept staring a while. He looked up at the clock. A full half hour already gone and he was no closer to finishing than when he sat down.

It was creeping closer to 11 by now, later than he usually stayed up on weeknights.

He must've been spacing out because now there were voices coming from the other room. Unless dad was losing it (possible…always possible) then they had company.

Which was…weird.

Sam pushed himself up, already anxious. Company was never a good thing – not for them. Ok, well sometimes it was fine, but in this context? On tonight of all nights?

Maybe it was a hunt? Some random 'friend' of dad's looking for help? Sam hoped it wasn't. He'd just gotten used to this school and didn't want to leave. It'd been only like a week.

Sure enough, when he opened the door, Sam heard a distinctly hard and gruff voice.

Hunter. No doubt.

"-long time now, John. What, two years since the chupacabra?"

"Roughly."

Drunk, Sam's mind provided. He could tell the same instant dad spoke, just from his voice.

Ok, uncomfortable. Company- some stranger whose voice Sam didn't recognize, with dad who was down one whiskey too many.

Seriously, Dean. Now would be a good time to get back.

Sam lurked and kept the door half-cracked open. Whoever the guy was he wasn't concerned about his voice carrying. Or for any people that might actually be sleeping.

But Sam wasn't – and wouldn't be any time soon – so it didn't matter really.

"Yeah, well. You gave that thing a run for it's money, man. Hell of a shot, too. That kid of yours."

Sam frowned. He could practically hear dad frown almost two rooms over. Who was this guy, talking about Dean all familiar?

And actually, what hunt was this? Chupacabra?

Sam gripped the edge of the door tighter. Probably just one of the (many) times he'd been left (dumped) at Pastor Jim's. With no information.

"Any reason you're here, Asa?"

"Oh, ah – yeah. Yeah, man. Like I said, heard you were passing through. Figured I'd drop by. Spirit's been raisin' some hell about three hours north west of here. Two bodies dropped in three days, if you're interested."

A hunt. Of course. Sam looked over his shoulder at the sad, forgotten textbook on his bed.

"Vengeful spirit, huh." Dad seemed to be thinking it over (shocking). "Not a good time."

Sam leaned back from the door, almost closed it because of the relief. Maybe the one silver lining of this anniversary was that hunts seemed to be a no-go on today's particular date.

Sam felt guilt. It flooded him.

Nice. Silver lining to mom's death.

Nice.

He waited, half-expecting this Asa guy to talk dad up. They always tried that, the few who ever 'dropped by.'

He didn't though. It was just a lot of quiet and the clink and swirl of ice in a half-empty glass of whisky.

"Well shit. Christ, I'm sorry. I didn't realize it was-"

"Yeah. Keep it to yourself, Asa. It's just one night. My boys do their thing. I do mine. You still need help with a salt and burn a week from now, you give me a call."

"Right…yeah," Asa wanted to change subjects – Sam could hear it, "Sure will. Dean'd love that probably. What about the runt? You didn't bring'm down last time, he'd probably get a kick outta this one – it's a pretty routine run."

Dude. Rambling, Sam thought. Annoyed.

His irritation died quick. Because Sam was picking something up, some vibes that had him gripping at the door again, turning his ear to the crack.

Because there was that weird quiet again when someone brought up something they shouldn't.

"Sammy, huh."

Sam swallowed.

"Yeah, little Sammy- kid could probably use a basic- …John?"

Sam held his breath.

"Fifteen now." Sam heard movement. Clock? Calendar? Dad was looking for something.

"Wow… already?"

Shifting. Dad nodded probably.

"Man. So quick," Asa said.

Sam could just imagine it. Dad staring into his whiskey. Asa shifting his weight. The too-loud clock ticking away until this conversation could finally end.

Sam shouldn't listen in, he knew. But how could he not? Dad, and Dean, they never told him anything about her. About mom.

"She was…"

Sam dug his nails into the wooden door so much it hurt. Dad never sounded that… human. Ever.

"Amazing. Amazing woman. You know that, Mr. Winchester. She was amazing – and I owe'er… owe you my life."

"Yeah. Yeah. She was… you know. Fifteen years and I wish she was…" Dad was going quiet again.

"Well, I'm never good with words. You know that. But you've got your boys."

"She'd be here."

"Huh?"

Sam quietly echoed Asa.

"I wish… she'd be here. Would be. But Sammy. She'd be here, if he…and sometimes I wish…"

"...John." Asa hissed out dad's name. Like a quiet warning. To shush him.

Sam didn't hear it though. Or the hushed shrug and, "Yeah.." dad said back.

Sam didn't hear anything except the blood rushing past his ears. Didn't hear anything but the whispers that filled in the blanks of dad's broken thoughts.

"She'd be here if he wasn't. And sometimes I wish he wasn't."

That was it. Like the glowing beacon, the big key that cleared it all up.

It all made so, so much more sense. The butting heads. Stubbornness. How dad always just fine with soldier Dean but never satisfied with anything Sam did, not matter how hard he tried to do. His grades. His research. He helped! He did, he always helped when they asked him!

And if there was attitude, it was just kid stuff! He tried! He tried, he did! But it was never, ever good – it was never enough and it never, ever would be enough.

Because he wasn't. Sam wasn't enough. Sam could not and would not ever fill the hole in their lives. In dad's life.

Nope. Instead, he was a reminder.

A constant, daily reminder.

Dad, your amazing, awesome wife – and Dean amazing mom- is dead. And your consolation prize?

Whiskey was truth serum. Magic potion that got dad talking.

Sam was vaguely aware that Asa left because he heard the front door closing. Sam didn't remember closing his own bedroom door, though. He didn't remember turning out the light or falling into bed while his textbook dug into his hip.

It hurt. That was ok, though.

Loosely based on the following prompt. I aged the boys up a bit and Sam is in the know about the hunter world.

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161- Wee!chesters, Gen:
(Also a little off cannon but hey it's fanfiction) Sam doesn't know about the hunting world. All he knows is his mother died on suspicious terms. One day, which happens to be the 6th anniversary of Mary's death he hears his Dad talking to a friend of his in their supposed living room.

Sammy doesn't realize his father is drunk and rambling and hears his Dad talk about him and how he wished he had Mary instead of him right now. This breaks something inside of Sammy and he inadvertently hurdles into depression. Dean knows that somethings wrong with his brother but it horrifies him when he finds out (how is up to you). Much bonus points if he confronts John about this and John agrees that Dean is right about all his accusations. Prompt is here
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