's snowing outside sigh. I wanted to write a 'Sam, Dean, snow, forest, cold, hunt, blood' kind of fic, but... LOL... I wrote this instead. shrugs Maybe after I post this, 'm gonna tackle that fic. I so want to see dark red blood on innocently white snow! 'm sick, I know! mwahhaha
I own nothing! And I'm sorry about the grammar/spelling mistakes.
Enjoy…
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Dad left. Again.
He picked up his duffle and closed the door behind him, letting fresh air mix with the stale one in the room.
They are alone. Again.
Sam's standing in the middle of the room, his hands by his side, his fingers clenching and unclenching, his eyes teary, watching the way the door closes silently.
Their dad said he'd call. Again.
"I'll call, Dean. Every day… make sure you answer. You know the drill."
"Yes, sir."
Their Dad said: "Take care of your brother. Food, make sure he brushes his teeth, shower, don't let him stay up to late."
Dean thought that his Dad was just saying things that are a given, but he didn't call him on it. He didn't call him on the fact that there's only Sam in that sentence and not Sam and him… because that is a given too.
Dean said: "Yes, sir."
Sam is asking questions. Again.
"Where did Daddy go?"
He goes outside the line with the orange … now the fox looks more like a big orange ball. Sam hasn't yet grasped the whole concept of lines you shouldn't cross. Maybe he never will.
"Shut up."
"Did he go visit Mommy?"
Sam with his big, brown eyes… so innocent and yet so annoying.
Dean is hoping to God that Dad didn't go visit their Mom… he is silent.
Sam gives up when he gets no answer and continues to color things outside the lines.
There are two boxes of Lucky Charms in the kitchen cabinet. Again.
"Eat it."
"Don't wanna."
"We have nothing else."
Sam sighs.
Dean is going out of his mind with worry about his Dad, his brother and what that crap is in the bathroom. It looks dead, but… you never know.
He has his shotgun ready, the TV on… the noise making his heart not beat so fast… and Sam's supposedly reading a book, lying on his stomach, on the bed.
"Dean… 'm sleepy."
"Go to sleep, then."
"You won't go to sleep?"
"'m not sleepy."
"Dean…"
There is this whine in Sam's voice that… Dean doesn't know why or how, but it makes him go brush his teeth and climb under the scratchy covers. The sheet is cold under his body.
Sam tosses and turns and finally lands on his left side with a huge sigh, his back to Dean.
"Go to sleep 'n shut up."
Dean says and turns on his right, his eyes wide open, fixed on the still curtain, clutching the gun under his pillow so that Sam wouldn't see it.
"Sleep."
His heart is going million miles per hour, his eyes are open so wide, that they begin to tear up, but he's afraid to blink, afraid to loose that fraction of a second, afraid that just then… something would happen.
The gun is cold under his palm. It's the only thing he has… in case… something comes to get his brother.
Dad said: "Take care of your brother."
Dean does.
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The End.
