Camisado

"Dad's in the hospital again."

Sam stared at the wall in front of him, his eyes focusing in on the detail of the cracks that were spread across the surface. He gripped his phone in his hands tighter, his eyes drifting closed in defeat. He replied, "Again? That's the third time this week. What happened this time?"

"He had gone to a bar after his usual work day, and gotten slammed. He crashed his rental into a pole." Sam grimaced, imagining the poor little car.

"You mean the impala? Damn, I actually liked that one," Sam joked, trying to distract him from the blood running down his palms from where his nails dug in.

Dean sighed on the other end. Sam could hear the exhaustion in his voice "Just, get over here, will you? It's only a mile walk. Clearwater Health Hospital."

"Yeah, I got it, I'll be there as soon as I can. Take care of Dad," Sam hung up as soon as he finished before chucking his phone at his pillow.

Why couldn't his dad have an ounce of self control? He had almost been accused of vehicular manslaughter two days before for hell's sake! You would think he would have learned his lesson, but no.

Sam took a few deep breaths, trying to calm his anger. It would do nothing for him to rage against his dad. In fact, it would most likely make it a million times worse.

Prying himself out of the bed, Sam's eyes drifted around the room for anything he would need. As far as he knew, he was just going to end up hiking back to the motel alone later on that night, so he didn't need to bring any clothing or essentials.

He grabbed his phone off of his pillow, tucking it into his back pocket. He couldn't think of anything else he would need. Maybe he should bring something for Dean? Sam shook his head, realizing Dean wouldn't accept anything until Dad was better. Devotion did that.

Sam stepped out of the motel and into the Texas heat. Somehow they had been cursed with the humidity of the lower part of Texas. Truthfully, Sam just wanted to get back to Kansas, even though he doubted that would happen anytime soon.

Glancing one last time at the motel room door to make sure it was locked, Sam started his trek towards the hospital.

As each car passed, Sam couldn't help but wonder if any of them were like his dad. Did any of them leave their children for days on end in crappy motels to fend for themselves, only to get drunk and leave their children to clean up the mess? Sam hoped the answer was no. It was hell.

He wrinkled his nose at all the smokers he passed on the side of the road, and rolled his eyes at the mass amount of gun stores and bars that just so happened to be next to each other. How stupid were these people?

Eventually, Sam reached the hospital. His legs ached and sweat dripped down his forehead, and the cool, sterile air inside felt nice against his skin, but he couldn't help but feel out of place. Everything looked so white and clean, even the patients and nurses. He was an invasion, the messy kid with ripped jeans and horrible hygiene.

He shuffled up to the main desk, having to stand on his toes to see over it. He hated being a kid sometimes. Awkwardly, Sam asked (throwing in his puppy dog eyes for good measure), "Hello? I'm looking for a patient named John Winchester, could you direct me to him? He's my father."

The receptionist cooed at his face before telling him his father was in the room E5 on the second floor. Sam thanked her, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at her antics.

He trudged up the stairs, his legs burning with pain. He was almost positive that walk was longer than a mile. He flipped on his phone to check the time. 5:30. Shit, he was late.

Sam reached the door for the room E5 in record time. His breathing quickened as anxiety ran through his veins. He attempted to calm himself, knowing it would do no good for him to be jumpy when he went in. After a few deep breaths, he pushed the door open and stepped into the room with his father and brother.

Dean jumped up immediately, but John stayed seated in his bed, his eyes narrowed with a concerning smile on his face. Sam knew he was screwed on so many levels.

"Dean, my boy, could you go fetch me a coffee? They're only on the 7th floor," John asked, a sickly sweet tone in his voice. Sam bit his cheek, his eyes moving to Dean who was nodding. "Yes sir, right away."

As soon as Dean left the room and the door closed behind him, John got up from the bed. Sam stayed where he was, his face expressionless. However, inside, he was panicking.

"You're late. You were supposed to be here by 5:15," John commented as he slowly drew closer to Sam.

"I wasn't informed I was supposed to be here by a certain time, and the road was much longer than expected," Sam replied, his eyes hard as he observed his Dad.

The sound of his Dad's hand against his cheek echoed though the room. Sam's eyes watered involuntarily from the pain. "Were you talking back to me? I don't tolerate that sort of behavior."

"Yes sir," Sam whispered, his head ducking downwards as he tried to blink away his tears.

"What was that? I couldn't hear. Speak up."

"Yes sir," Sam said louder, trying to hid the anxiety in his voice. He doubted it worked very well as he noticed the sadistic look in his Dad's eyes.

"Dean told me of what you both were doing while I was gone," John commented, his fingers curling into a fist. Sam's eyes drifted down to it before moving back up to his Dad's face. "Did you think I wouldn't find out that you snuck out?"

Sam tried to not let his eyes widen, but his body didn't like his request, and they did anyways. His hands shook slightly as possible punishments flitted through his mind.

Another slap stung against Sam's cheek. He could hear his father's anger through his breathing. "I asked you a question, I expect you to answer."

"I-I- No sir," Sam stuttered out, his nails digging into his palms as he resisted the urge to cup his cheek. It would only make everything worse.

John gripped the front of Sam's shirt. "I shouldn't have to put up with a monster like you. But I do. Yet, you're still an ungrateful little brat about it. Don't you know a thing about respect?"

John threw Sam against the wall, making him whimper as he crumpled to the floor with pain. His back felt as if it was on fire, and he could hear ringing in his ears.

"Well, I've decided I've had enough. I'm kicking you out. You have a day to get as far away from me and Dean as possible, before I beat your ass so badly you won't be able to walk ever again," John threatened, making Sam gasp in surprised. He was being… thrown out? He stayed crumpled on the floor for a minute, trying to process the shock, before he felt a kick to the stomach.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Go," John commanded, sitting back on the bed. Sam scrambled up on to his feet, trying not to cry out as his back protested.

He made his way to the door, tears swimming in his eyes. He was a strong child, more than most, but that was just it. He was a child. He didn't have anywhere to go.

Just before he closed the door, he heard behind him, "If you so much as try to contact Dean, you will wish you had never been born."

Sam chucked all of his things into a duffle bag, choking back sobs. It was unlikely he was to ever see his brother again. Of all the unlucky things in his life, this had to have been the worst.

When he finished packing, his tears had dried against his face. There wasn't anything he could do about his Dad's decision without getting killed. Sam didn't doubt his father would sink that low.

Sam walked out of the motel, his bag in his hand and his phone in the other. He stared back at it for a moment before sighing deeply. It all seemed so unreal.

He scrolled through the contacts on his phone, trying to blink back tears at Dean's number. He reached the number he was looking for, and called it. They picked up in seconds.

"Hey Bobby? It's me, Sam Winchester. I need you to pick me up."

Hello! This is my first story written on this account, so I hope you enjoy. Updates are probably going to be slow, I'm sorry for that, I'm just getting out of a year's worth of writer's block. Anyways, sorry for the horrible writing!

The idea for this story came from the song Camisado by Panic! At the Disco.