A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews, favs, and follows! This chapter is for Natasha Walker; thank you for your kind words and your prompt!
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing! I make no profit off of this. This is solely for my enjoyment and hopefully for the enjoyment of others! ;)
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Abandon : cease to support or look after; desert
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Sam had been back with them for just over three weeks now. Dean had begun to recognize and categorize Sam's new quirks and ticks.
1. Anything over normal speaking volume was considered a shout. Doesn't matter if it was a happy shout, an excited shout– doesn't matter. Shouting and Sammy did not mix.
Anytime Dean, John, or Bobby raised their voices to get someone's attention, or simply while yelling nonsense at the tv, it resulted in Sam clapping his hands over his ears and squeezing his eyes shut to block out the world.
2. You could almost never touch Sam without giving a warning or asking first. Dean was the exception.
Bobby had made the mistake of patting the boy on the shoulder in what he'd thought was an encouraging manner. Sam had flinched violently away from the touch, scrambling backwards while frantically spewing apologies for whatever it was that made Bobby "hit" him.
3. Sam did everything you told him to if it was a demand and not a request.
A prime example was when John had told Sam to eat and Sam had done just that. He'd eaten more than he could physically stomach because an authoritarian told him to. All three men were careful how they phrased their sentences from then on.
4. Wherever Dean went, Sam went.
And wherever Dean was, Sam had to be touching some part of him. Dean's sleeve, foot, arm, shirt, something. At first Dean, didn't mind so much. He was more than happy to have his arms full of his 6'4" brother, content to try and gain back the moments that had been stolen from them the past two years.
But when it became an ordeal to go the bathroom or simply sleep in his own bed, Dean couldn't help the small spark of annoyance that flared. But it was quickly squashed when he thought about all that Sam had probably been through the last two years. He could sacrifice his personal space if it meant getting Sammy better.
Sam still didn't talk much, choosing instead to use those signature puppy dog eyes and wild kaleidoscope of facial expressions to communicate.
Dean comfortably filled the silence with stories of his hookups, what Sam had missed on General Hospital, the auto shop Dean worked in for the better part of last summer. Anything to keep himself and Sam occupied.
The police had been by earlier in the week to ask if Sam would give a statement, but John had turned them away. He wasn't ready to put Sam through all of that again. It wouldn't be much a statement anyway, what with Sam barely speaking to the people he did trust.
All in all, the family was adjusting well. Progress was being made left and right. But Winchester luck struck before anyone could get too comfortable.
Friday morning, John sent Dean on a supply run. Bobby's pantry was looking a little scarce and John offered to restock it, seeing as Bobby was allowing the three Winchesters to stay free of charge.
Dean had put up a fight (remembering to keep his voice low), telling his dad that he didn't think it was a good idea to for him to leave Sammy. John had countered with his own argument that he could be stay with Sam for an hour or two while Dean ran to the store.
It had taken a little more convincing, but eventually Dean left, with a promise to Sam that he'd be back soon.
"Soon" turned into a two and a half hour stretch. But John kept his word and stayed with Sam the whole time.
Well, almost the whole time.
He'd taken Sam for a walk around the salvage yard, telling Sam that it would be good to get some fresh air in his lungs. They simply walked in silence, one of Sam's hands gently grasping the hem of John's jacket.
John didn't press Sam to talk, but he didn't feel the need to fill the silence with mindless chatter like Dean did. They looped in and out of the curving paths amidst all the junked cars, not really going anywhere but not caring either.
They'd been walking for a good fifteen minutes when John's cell began to buzz in his pocket. He drew up short, the sixteen year old coming to a stop alongside him. John fished out the device and glanced at the caller ID.
He held a hand to Sam and walked a short distance away, feeling Sam's fingers slip off of his jacket.
"Hey, Caleb," John said into the receiver.
People tended to do stupid stuff when they talked on the phone. Some mindlessly cleaned, others meandered about, few chomped gum. John was the meandering type.
He walked in a circle, turned right, spun on his heel and shoved his free hand in his jeans pocket. He kicked at the gravel and traveled another few dozen feet before veering off in another direction. John had been on the phone with Caleb for half an hour when his phone beeped, signaling another call.
John said his goodbyes to Caleb and hung up before he answered the waiting call. "Yeah, Dean?"
"Hey, what type of bread does Bobby get?"
That call lasted around fifteen minutes, John managing to find himself even deeper immersed in the salvage yard.
"How's Sammy doing?" Dean had asked.
John looked up, eyes finally taking in the scene around him. He felt the blood drain from his face, a horrible stone of guilt dropping into his stomach.
"Shit," he swore, practically hearing Dean snap to attention through the phone.
"Shit what? What happened? What's wrong?" He asked rapid fire.
"I'll call you back." John disconnected the call and stuffed the phone in his pocket, long legs carrying him across the gravel, through the winding maze.
'What's the matter with you, Winchester?' He inwardly cursed himself as he began to run. He didn't even know where he was or how he'd gotten there. John hadn't truly been paying attention as he'd wandered while on the phone. 'Where are you, Sammy?'
When five minutes of searching yielded no results, John took to calling aloud.
"Sam! Sammy!"
He briefly wondered if Sam had decided to head back to the house, but didn't want to risk going there himself in case Sam was still somewhere out in the labyrinth of old vehicles.
"Sam!"
John pulled up short, panting as he whipped his head around, praying for a sign as to where he could find his son. Anxiety levels climbing, John pulled out his phone again. He rapidly scrolled through the list, hitting send when Bobby's name was highlighted.
It rang twice before it was answered.
"Singer."
"Bobby. Are you up at the house?" John panted.
"Who is this?" Came the elder hunter's voice.
"John. Winchester," he supplied after a beat.
"Oh. Yeah, I'm at the house. Grabbing a beer. You want me to–"
"Is Sam with you?" John interrupted.
There was silence for a moment before Bobby replied. "I thought he was with you?"
John dropped the phone from his ear, eyes pinching shut. He inhaled deeply before bringing the mobile back up to his ear. "I messed up," he admitted, eyes snapping open and scanning the immediate area. He began to walk again as he explained his predicament to Bobby.
"You stay up at the house in case he heads there. Call me if you see him."
It took John a grand total of twenty-six minutes to find his youngest son. John had never kicked himself harder than he did at that moment when he laid eyes on Sam.
Sam was on his knees in the dirt, arms wrapped around his middle and forehead brushing the ground.
"Oh, Sammy," John whispered, voice thick with remorse as he raced over and dropped to his knees beside the kid. Now that he was closer, he could hear the teen's heart-wrenching sobs and the word why being muttered repetitiously.
"Sam," he said softly, trying to get the boy's attention. Sam continued to rock himself back and forth, forehand creating a divot in the gravel. "Sammy?"
But it was no use. Sam couldn't hear him over whatever was happening in his head.
There was nothing for it. Knowing the reaction it would produce before it happened, John laid his hand on Sam's back, just between his shoulder blades.
Sam reared back, moving so fast John was afraid he might get whiplash. "No!" He yelped, scuttling backwards on his hands and feet until his back collided with the door of one of the lemons.
John raised his hands in the universal surrender.
"I'm sorry, sorry, I'm sorry," Sam moaned, hands clutched to his chest and head dipped low.
John cursed himself for the millionth time that day. It was one thing to see his son in pain, it was another thing entirely to know that he was the one that caused it.
"Sammy, it's okay. You didn't do anything wrong," he said gently, praying that his words were getting through.
"Then why doesn't he want me?" Sam whimpered miserably.
John cocked his head, eyebrows coming together. "Who, Sam?"
Sam's hands snaked up into his hair, pulling at the disheveled locks. "If he wanted me, he wouldn't have left me. He would've found me."
Swallowing heavily, John rose slightly from his crouch and began to inch over to his son. "Who, Sam?" He asked again, a sick feeling in his stomach telling him that he already knew the answer.
"I just want my dad," Sam sniffed, causing the pieces of John's already broken heart to shatter. "I want Dean. I want my dad…"
John closed the distance between them, gently gathering his son up in his arms. Sam fought against the older man's grip, wailing wretchedly, screaming "No, I want my dad! Dad!"
Tears rolled down John's cheek as he held onto his son, eventually feeling Sam relax into the hold, hiccuping and gasping.
"You've got him, buddy," John whispered. "Dad's right here. I'm not going anywhere ever again."
One of Sam's hands slid up and grasped the collar of John's jacket, fabric caught in a death grip.
John didn't know how long he sat out there, rocking his son in his arms, muttering, "I'm sorry" over and over again as he dropped kisses into Sam's hair.
He ignored the incessant vibrating of his phone as call after call rang out.
When Dean and Bobby made an appearance in the lot, John knew that he and Sam must've been gone for quite some time. But one look at the sleeping teen in John's arms told the other two hunters everything they needed to know.
Dean mentally made another note.
5. Don't leave Sammy alone for more than five minutes. The results will break your heart.
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