When Three Became Two
Dean lies awake in the bright glare of the half broken light bulbs of the musty hotel room. Sounds of a rising argument can be heard outside.
He rolls over, burying his face in his pillow as the voices grow louder, angrier. The deeper voice is controlled but with an underlying tone of pissed off fury. The younger voice is defiant, stubborn and even a little desperate. Immediately, he knows that it isn't like any row Sam and Dad have had before. And lately, Sam and Dad have been rowing a lot.
The door creaks open noisily and bangs as it is left to swing back on rusty hinges.
"Sam! Listen to me!"
"Why the hell should I?! This is my choice, Dad! I'm sick and tired of hunting and I've finally been given the opportunity to have a normal life! "
"Dad? Sam? What the hell is going on?!" Dean demands, shoving the sheets off him and getting out of bed. Sam ignores him as he silently shoves clothes into his duffle, hands shaking with seething anger. John sits back, arms crossed and his face is like rock; expressionless, emotionless. However, Dean can feel it. He can feel the waves of discomfort and anxiety radiating off him. He looks older, wearier. "Dad?!" John shakes his head.
"Be quiet. He's decided this." There's something in John's tone that makes Dean falls silent, like a little kid following his Daddy's orders again; 'Dean, don't shoot like that.', 'Dean, throw a knife like this.', 'Take your brother outside as fast as you can! Don't look back! Now Dean, go!'...
He looks over to his brother who is now putting on his sneakers. "Sam? Sam?! Where are you goin'? It's four freakin' AM!" His voice is strained and his chest feels heavy. It's a weird feeling but he compares it to when an eight year old Sam was taken by a malicious demon bitch and almost gutted right in front of him. Sam still won't answer, as if answering will set off the apocalypse.
Sam's hand is on the doorknob when John say's something that neither of the boys will ever forget. "If you walk out that door, don't you ever come back." He says it bitterly, angrily, sadly, disappointedly. And the worst thing? All Sam does is twist the handle. Then he steps out and he's gone before Dean can even shout his name.
Dean lies awake in the dark of the musty hotel room, listening to the sound of his Dad's breathing and his own. Sam'll be back. Sammy always comes back. He'll understand that he was being stupid and that Dad didn't mean it....He hopes. Except, he knows that the next day, the next month, the next year, there will only be two duffles, two beds and two breaths in the silence of many more lonely motel rooms to come.