Sam sighed and looked at his watch. He'd waited outside the school for 55 minutes; obviously, Dean wasn't coming.
Sam hitched his bag up his shoulder and started toward home. Fifteen minutes in and he stopped to root through his pack, hoping to find the gloves that Dean may or may not have put back. The older boy had borrowed them to chop wood last night, and Sam remembered asking him to put them back in the book bag, but a thorough investigation turned up nothing. Sam blew on his hands and rubbed them together, trying to get the feeling back. He was too cold to work the zipper on the bag, so he hugged it tight to his chest for the rest of the two-mile walk home.
The cold November wind buffeted him, pounding with painful accuracy against his face and straight through the thin, canvas jacket he wore.
Sam pulled the collar together, wishing the zipper still worked, but he'd had this jacket for going on four years now, and the sleeves were too short and the waist too high, and the zipper had broken two years ago in a heated battle with a wendigo in the hills of Colorado.
But no sense crying over broken zippers.
Probably, Sam should have started walking home immediately. He'd have been safely inside before the weather really turned rank because when Dean hadn't been at lunch, Sam realized he'd skipped school. Still, there was the off-chance that the older boy would show up to walk home with him, and Sam knew he'd be worried if he wasn't there. So he'd hung around and waited, hoping to avoid making his brother angry again.
Sam hated it when Dean got mad at him. It made him feel sort of all alone in the world. Sure, there was Dad, but Dad didn't get him the way Dean did. He still remembered his brother's harsh words from this morning. Sam hadn't meant to make him that mad, he was just trying to warn him about the way that one guy, Wade, looked at Sam.
It was just … weird. It was like Wade hated him or something, and Sam had no idea why.
Sam sighed when the skies opened up and the sleet started falling, and he still had a mile and half to go. He hoped Dean would be there when he got home. Maybe he'd already be home and have the fire stoked up and supper going. Sam smiled at that thought. Dean made the best spaghetti with meat sauce, and the younger boy took a minute to fantasize about coming home to a brightly lit house that radiated warmth and that smelled like spaghetti. Plus, He'd worry about his big brother being out in weather like this, especially with that group of guys he was currently hanging around with.
Sam didn't trust them. He didn't like Dean trusting them. They were the kind of guys who'd high-five you to your face and then steal your wallet when you weren't looking. He wasn't sure why Dean couldn't see that.
Dean was usually much better at picking his friends, but Sam knew that there was little to choose from in this town that was worse than most.
He was nearly a half-mile from home when he heard it - the rumble of the old Impala.
Dad.
Sam breathed a sigh of relief and turned to wait for his father to pull alongside him. He climbed into the car gratefully, shooting his dad a look of ultimate gratitude.
"Where the hell is your brother?" John growled, taking in Sam's frozen and bedraggled appearance.
Sam shrugged. "Dunno."
John pulled back onto the road, "You don't know? He wasn't in school today?"
Sam was silent, not wanting to rat out his big brother.
"Sam? I asked you a question, son."
Sam just shrugged, "You'll have to ask him."
John shook his head and gritted his teeth. "Oh, don't worry. I will. You can bank on that." John reached over and angled the vents toward Sam, cranking the heat up to high and noticing how the younger boy leaned into it almost desperately. "You walk all this way alone? Where's your gloves?"
Sam shrugged, "Forgot 'em."
"You for …" John breathed heavily. "Dammit, Sam. I bought you those gloves for a reason. Did I waste my money? Gloves that like don't come cheap. You didn't lose 'em did you? Cause if you did, I'm not springing for another pair."
"I didn't lose them. They're at home."
"Good."
John turned into the long, dirt drive that led back to the old abandoned house the Winchesters were calling home these days, and Sam smiled when he saw the porch light glowing in the evening gloom. Dean was home, and Sam could almost smell the spaghetti cooking.
"Fool kid. What's he got the porch light on for? House is supposed to be abandoned." John grumbled, cutting the engine and climbing out of the car. "Sam." he called out, nodding to the weapons bag.
Sam nodded and reached into the back seat, grabbing the heavy duffle. He struggled to lift the strap onto his shoulder and haul the heavy bag up the front steps. When he got inside, he was pleased to find the fire roaring in the fireplace. He set down his burdens and wiggled out of his soaked jacket, socks and shoes. He sat right down on the floor in front of the fire and pulled his sodden shirts over his head, leaving only his jeans in place. Sam leaned in and closed his eyes.
Felt like heaven.
But his revery was interrupted by Dean. "Hey squirt. Sorry I wasn't there to meet you. How come you're so late?" Then Dean saw the weapons bag and realized that Dad was home, and he broke into a grin. "Hey! You got to ride in style, hunh?" Dean ruffled his hair as he went by, searching for John. "Damn, Sammy. Put some clothes on that scrawny chest, right?"
Sam smiled, reaching over and tugging the ratty throw off the sofa and wrapping around himself. He heard his father and his brother greeting each other warmly and suddenly felt ridiculously happy inside. He was warm. Dean and Dad were both home. And something smelled amazing in the kitchen.
Life couldn't get any better than this, could it?"
But then he heard loud voices and realized that Dean and his dad were fighting, and he frowned. That was unusual. These two got along like salt and pepper. Usually it was Sam who was at odds with their father. Never Dean.
But sure enough, the older boy came stomping back into the room and glared coldly at Sam. And Sam couldn't help it, he flinched a little. "Where's Dad?" he asked, looking behind Dean to see the Impala backing away down the drive.
"Gone." Dean said shortly. "And thanks, by the way."
"For what?" Sam asked, genuinely puzzled.
"Had to rat me out to Dad, didn't you? Just couldn't wait to tell him I cut school today, hunh? Just cause I wasn't there to hold your little baby hand walkin' home, you had to go all narc on me."
Dean stalked away into the kitchen, and Sam stared silently after him, having no idea what he'd done to deserve his brother's cold scorn.
