Hello everyone! It has now officially been almost a year since I last uploaded anything to Fanfiction... that's insane.
I don't really know why I took SUCH a long break, but my interest in supernatural kind of faded a little bit, but now I love it more than ever, and I'm feeling a surge of inspiration for writing.
I've re-written this chapter, and changed it quite a bit. I'm going to be writing a second chapter as soon as I can, but stick with me as I am going back to school tomorrow. (I'm going into year 10.) so I hope you like it.
Lily
Sam locked eyes with his brother from across the 7/11, their eyes meeting quickly before dean gave Sam a knowing nod.
The bored and greasy teenager behind the counter was more interested in his phone than Sam and Dean, which played to their advantage.
Sam slowly walked to the back of the shop, his eyes wandering to the 'staff only' door. Dean strode to the counter, flashing his whitest smile.
He rested both hands on the counter and blocked the boys view of Sam.
"Hey dude, do you think I could...uhhh... a bottle of jack please?"
The teen jumped, suddenly drawn away from social media, and nodded, hurriedly turning around and scanning the shelves full of malts and whiskeys.
Sam watched as his brother created a diversion (albeit only temporary), and quickly opened the door behind him, scanning the small room whilst shutting the door quietly; it was dank and dark, the only furniture a small oak set of a table and chairs.
The dim light illuminated an almost pre-historic computer screen, which he ran towards, careful to not make any noise.
He sat down on a small and rusted desk chair and started to type, carefully disabling the CCTV inside and out of the gas station.
The teen turned around and put the bottle of jack on the counter.
"Anything else, sir?"
The teen frowned as he noticed that the other guy had seemingly disappeared.
"Dude... where did your friend go?" The teen asked.
Dean smiled innocently and pointed to an empty car, parked near a gas pump, the neon 7/11 sign illuminating it in the depth of the night.
"In there."
The teen frowned incredulously as he scanned the empty car again.
"There's literally no one in the-"
"I'd like a pack of Marlboros as well." Dean grinned.
The teen stared in confusion at dean for a minute before shaking himself out of it and turning back around to scan the tobacco section to get what the guy wanted.
Sam smiled triumphantly to himself as he watched as the CCTV monitors went blank, and logged off, creeping up to the door, listening to the muffled murmuring of the conversation outside.
He slowly pushed the door open, glancing at the teenager as he was getting something off the shelf for dean.
He glanced at the screen above the counter, the interface black now.
Sam grinned as he walked down the aisle to meet with dean, who was now reaching for the gun in his back pocket.
The teenager had just grabbed the packet of Marlboros when he heard a subtle but familiar click.
He froze.
"Don't move a muscle." Deans words were slow and deliberate.
His body instantly felt infinitely heavier, and he swallowed down an invisible lump in his throat.
"Now, I'm going to explain this very slowly ok?"
The teen nodded to a shelf of vodka.
"Turn around slowly."
The boy turned around and came face to face with deans' magnum, a violent shiver running through his body. The taller man stood behind the gun wielding maniac, his eyes downcast and his body stooped.
"I'm not going to shoot you unless you make me angry. Now I'm not a very hard guy to get angry."
A self indulgent smirk lit up his face, the gun still carefully trained on the teenager.
"You can quite easily keep me from being angry, just by doing what I say. Now, that doesn't sound too hard does it." His words were harsh and biting.
The teen shook his head vigorously.
"Right. Good boy. I need you to keep your hands behind your head, so I know you won't be able to set of any alarms for the police. But I know you wouldn't do that to me anyway, would you-"
Dean glanced at the teens name badge.
"-Alex."
Alex shook his head once again and placed two violently shaking hands behind his head.
"Well done. I need you to take out your wallet and place it on the counter, next to the booze. Once you've done that, i want you to place your hands back onto your head. And I want you to do all of that very slowly."
Alex nodded, his eyes going misty with tears, taking his wallet that was a gift from his mother on his 12th birthday and placing it on the counter, the tears now threatening to spill.
"Thank you Alex."
Sam snatched the wallet, and looked through. $50 and a picture of a happy looking young girl, dog eared and torn. Wasn't anything spectacular.
He slid the money into his pocket and threw the wallet back onto the counter.
"Pretty girl." Sam mumbled.
Alex glanced at him, bewildered, tears streaking his face.
"Alex." Alex's attention turned back to dean, and of course his gun.
"I'm going to give you this plastic bag, ok? I need you to put all the cash in the register in there, slowly of course. If you try to pull anything funny, I will shoot."
His movements slow and arduous, Alex followed deans instruction, his hands shaking as he pulled wads of his hard earned money and threw them into the bag. He pushed the hefty bag to the edge of the counter, and flinched as he heard the guns safety go off.
"Slower Alex, please."
"Sorry," Alex mumbled, his voice quivering.
He watched as the taller guy, the reserved one, pull the bag off the counter and hold it to his chest.
Alex could've sworn he'd seen a flash of remorse flash through his brooding eyes.
"Well done Alex! Now that wasn't so hard, was it? I think you did quite well. We're almost done, and then you can go home to your family, yeah?"
Alex stood in silence.
"Now I want your phone, on the counter. Now."
Alex pulled out his phone and threw it onto the counter, watching as it clattered. Dean grabbed it and held it up.
"Now Alex. If you call the police, and tell them anything, anything at all that they could use to find us, and if I find out, which I would, I'll track you to your house, hunt you down, and make you regret that decision. Capiche?"
Alex swallowed.
"Alright then. You've been a pleasure Alex. See you later. Keep your hands above your head as we leave please."
Dean lowered the gun, turning to go, Sam hot on his trail. Alex relaxed slightly, the tension leaving his shoulders and his legs almost giving out, as the duo started to walk towards their car.
He frowned when he saw the older guy stop, and say something to the taller guy. They started to bicker and the tall guy threw up his hands in frustration as the older guy started to jog back up to the door.
He swung the door open and strode through, coming up to the counter. Alex stumbled backwards, a whimper escaping his lips.
This was when he was going to be shot in the head, his brains splattering all over the place. No loose ends left behind.
"Sorry dude. Just came back for the booze."
Alex took a couple of shaky breaths, staring at the guy.
Dean seized the bottle of booze and cigarettes, before pausing, biting his bottom lip in thought.
He reached into his back pocket and slid Alex $50.
"I'm... sorry."
He left the store, leaving many unanswered questions in his wake, climbing into the car. He watched as they pulled out, smoke flying behind them, before finally disappearing from Alex's sight.
He collapsed to the ground, his legs finally giving out. His breathing was heavy and his head was throbbing.
He sat there for what felt like hours, his eyes resting on the $50.
Sam sat in the car, his head resting on the window, staring out at the shrouded stars and passing trees.
He was glad this one had gone well, unlike the last job, which had resulted in broken bones and stab wounds.
They had gotten about $370, and although that was a hefty amount and would surely pay their bills, he couldn't help but feel slightly melancholic about the whole situation.
He hated how dirty this made him feel. He hated that their dad had forced them into this slum like living, reducing them to basic criminals. They both deserved more than that.
He hated that their dad had left them to go hunt the thing that killed their mother without giving them money, food, or a roof over their head.
After their mother's death, John Winchester was ruined. He ceased to live as a functioning human being. It was excusable for him to be in a deep state of mourning, but it was inexcusable to just leave your two young sons alone in the world.
He left Dean to be the responsible adult as a young teenager, who was just as broken by Johns action as Sam was.
Sam had vouched to himself that he'd never forgive his dad for that. Sam and dean had been placed into the adoption system, which was full of mean kids and manipulative social workers, but had run away together as soon as dean turned 18.
They had moved to Wichita, with dean working 3 jobs at one point to support their needs and pay the rent on their dingy and tiny apartment, while Sam went to school.
Sam graduated with all A's, and had received a scholarship to Harvard.
But of course, there was no chance in hell that Sam would be able to go off to university, get a degree and live his fantasy as a lawyer with a wife and two kids and a beautiful house in the suburbs.
Instead he started work at the mechanics with dean, working the occasional hunting job if it reared it's ugly head, which unfortunately eventually got them fired; too much work time missed.
And that's how they got here. That's what they had been reduced to. None of it was fair, and the resentment Sam held for his father was inconceivable.
All dean wanted was to support Sam, as he had been doing since he was a teen. The last time they'd gotten any messages from their dad was when dean has turned 18, and John Winchester had sent dean a letter, entailing a combination and an address.
Dean had been ecstatic, his dream of a happy family becoming a reality, hoping that when he arrived, dean would be greeted by his long lost dad. Sam remained utterly sceptical.
It was actually just a garage, with no John Winchester inside, but his car.
A 1967 Chevy impala. Dean was delighted, but he couldn't help the disappointment and anger that nagged at the back of his mind.
Sam was pulled from his deep train of thoughts as dean spoke, his fingers drumming lightly on the wheel, and his right hand laying on the window, air whistling past.
"I gave him $50."
Sam frowned and yawned.
"You did? Why?"
Dean glanced out of the window, but Sam could still see the slight smile on his face.
"I don't know. I felt sorry for him. Guess I'm getting soft."
Sam stayed silent, and that's how it remained for the rest of the journey, Sam slowly succumbing to unconsciousness.
Dean let them into their apartment, pushing the door open, and bowing graciously in front of the door, waiting for Sam so to go in.
"Ladies first."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Shut up jerk." Sam yawned. He was too tired to get annoyed at dean.
He sluggishly collapsed onto their moth eaten sofa and the springs squealed under his weight.
Dean chuckled, amused by himself, and was about to close the door behind him when their landlord, a small and unpleasant guy, who'd probably never told the truth in his life, slammed his hand agains there door, stopping it from closing.
"Deano."
Dean rolled his eyes to Sam, who smirked.
"Terry."
Terry smiled and crossed his arms against his chest.
"I hate to be demanding, but your rent's overdue. By two weeks. And deano, as much as you know I love you, I just can't wait any longer. I have my own... payments to be made."
Terry grinned and gave dean a knowing nod. Dean grimaced.
"Yeah alright Terry, I really didn't need to know. But I have the money."
Dean pulled his recent winnings out slightly reluctantly.
"Ah, you're a good kid deano. Pay up." Terry was eyeing the wad of cash hungrily.
Dean handed over a good amount of their money and Sam sighed disappointedly from the sofa.
"Thanks deano. You be having a good night alright?"
"Alright terry. You too." Dean said monotonously.
"You bet I will." He smirked sleazily and turned away.
"Be Seeing you kid."
"Sure." Dean said, slamming the door shut.
Dean spun around, raising his eyebrows at Sam, who smiled in return, lazily flicking through the TV channels.
Dean walked into their kitchen, dumping the measly remains of their money into a drawer, pouring himself and Sam a drink.
He sat down next to Sam, putting both drinks on the coffee table, his actions slow and ritualistic.
Drifting in and out of consciousness, dean focused on the tv screen, fading out of reality, mildly aware of the moving people on the tv screen.
Dean jumped when he heard Sam talking.
"I'm gonna hit the sack."
Dean sat up, looking at the empty cup on the table then at Sam.
"We're meeting Ellen tomorrow about a job she has for us. Be up by 11."
"Yep. Alright."
Sam stretched himself out and walked over to the bathroom, casting a glance back to his brother who was taking another sip of his drink.
He shut the door behind him and twisted the lock.
Sam turned on the flickering light, and the naked bulb cast a light on the growing mould creeping up the dirty walls.
He needed it.
His dirty little secret, that he'd successfully hidden from dean for the past year.
A year ago, when Sam had realised his dream of Harvard definitely wasn't going to become a reality.
And so he pulled out that familiar little orange pill container, downing 3, trying to ignore the feeling of immense guilt he felt.
It wouldn't be long before the effects kick in, wouldn't be long before he would be peacefully knocked out, wouldn't be long before the thoughts that so often plagued his mind as he laid in bed, would be happily diverted, and a dreamless sleep would claim him.
He loved it, but he hated it.
And so in the morning he woke up, with no recollection of how he had gotten there, and he prepared to face yet another day.
Thanks for reading, and reviews are always appreciated, as the basically fuel my inspiration.
hope you liked it! Xx