Sorry it has taken me so long but I have been unbelievably busy! Thank you to all my loyal followers who have kept with this story. ~ supernaturalloverja
They were supposed to be home yesterday. Sam glanced out the window again but knew there would be no impala pulling up outside, no matter how much he wished it would. So he continued to scrub at his single dinner plate. His hands scrubbed until they were pruned and shriveled and the dish water had gone from hot to cold, but he still stood there with hands in the soapy water. He was trying to distract himself with homework, chores, and t.v. but he couldn't get away from that nagging sense of awareness. Aware that they were supposed to be home yesterday.
They were supposed to be home two days ago. The room was spotless, everything scrubbed within an inch of its life. It helped to keep him distracted, for a while. He came to a standstill beside the second twin bed. The comforter was rumpled at the bottom, so Sam pulled it all the way off. He stripped the bed down to its mattress before remaking it. And for a moment, in the rumple of the sheets, and the motion of tucking the pea green comforter under the mattress, he could focus on something else. Something that didn't make his heart stutter in his chest. But then the bed was made, and he had to think about it again. They were supposed to be home two days ago.
They were supposed to be home three days ago. Sam was a mess. His finger nails were bitten down into stubs, his hair was mousey from running his fingers through it continuously, and the cell phone his father had left behind was glued in his fist. He had called every number in his head. Numbers that were disconnected, numbers that went straight to voice mail, numbers that belonged to gruff hunters that said they didn't know a thing, none of it helped, and by the last number Sam was crying. Not just a few stray tears but a torrential downpour that drenched his cheeks and caused snot to flow out of his nose. He crawled into bed, phone still clutched, and curled his 10 year old body up as small as it would go before reaching a hand out to Dean' s side of the bed, trying to imagine he was there, but in the back of his mind as he drifted to sleep he knew that he wasn't. They were supposed to be home three days ago.
It was 2 a.m. when the phone rang. "Hello," his voice was raw, drenched in emotion; relief, worry, pain, joy, loneliness…
"Sam." His dad's voice was clipped, all business.
"Yes." Apprehension flooded Sam, what if something happened, something he didn't want to know.
"There was an accident on the hunt," Sam took in a sudden intake of breathe, fresh tears pooling in his eyes, "Dean's in the hospital."
"What happened?" That was all Sam could get out, out of the million questions storming his brain that was all he could get out. Where were they? Was he okay? When are you coming home? Are you coming home?
"It's not something to talk about over the phone."
"But Dad…"
"Sam. Not now. I'm sending Bobby to take care of you for a little while, I'll come get you when I can."
"I want to come to the hospital with you. I want to see Dean…"
"No."
"But Dad…"
"Sam would you just do as I say for once? This isn't where you need to be, I don't want you to see this."
"Fine. How is Dean doing?"
"He'll be fine, he's strong. I have to go Sam, text me when Bobby gets to you" He didn't wait for a goodbye to end the call. The moment he wasn't linked in to his father's ear he burst into sobs. He wanted Dean.
"I Hate you!" He screamed at the disconnected phone, voice hitched with tears. "I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!"
Then he folded in on himself and sunk his face in the pillow, hand placed on Dean's side of the bed, and drifted to sleep. He hated his Dad. They were supposed to be home three days ago.