Sam got out of the cab, got his bags and tipped the driver. He stood in the middle of the street, staring at his home.
'Home'. Wasn't 'home' supposed to be a place where you felt safe and loved?. A place you wanted to come back to when you were away?. He picked up his bags and walked to the front door.
As Sam entered the house, his head down looking at the knob and fighting to get out the key, he suddenly froze. Something was wrong. He stood there, trying to figure out what was it. A moment later he knew.
It was the smell. A sweet, penetrating smell clung to the air inside the house. A smell he recognized perfectly, though he hadn't smelled it for almost four years. He didn't have to look up to know what he would find.
He finally freed the key from the knob's power. He closed the door quietly behind him and turned around to look at the dark living room. He could make out his father's silhouette sitting in his big armchair, an empty bottle and a glass sitting at the table. He held the hope his father was passed out in the chair, but he wasn't that lucky.
"Where were you?" His father's voice was deep and emotionless, his words not slurry, he wasn't thaaat drunk. Sam couldn't see his face clearly, it was dark, but he could see the light from the street, the little bit that made it through the window, reflect in his father's eyes.
"I was visiting Dean at Stanford for the weekend, remember?" Sam's voice was even, he didn't want it to quiver, it angered his father when the boys showed fear, but he didn't want it to sound defiant either, that angered him just for the obvious reasons. So he went for a neutral tone.
"Stanford." His father huffed, like the word tasted sour in his mouth. Sam actually loved that word.
'Stanford. Staaanford.' It sounded to him like 'Promised land' must have sound for the Hebrews leaving Egypt. Stanford was the possibility for his brother and him of a life away from their father. A fresh new start. Nothing to fear, nothing to hurt them. A place that offered them a future, the possibility of meeting new people, making friends, having a normal life.
Since Dean had gotten into high school, and seen the programs for different colleges, he had began studying his ass off, and had made Sam do the same. They would get those scholarships even if it meant now sleeping for the next three years.
Dean's hard work had paid off and he had a full scholarship at law school. Sam was a few months from finishing high school, and his grades made it almost certain he'd get one too. He was going to study Journalism. He could picture himself as a great investigator.
Sam was taken from his thoughts by the sound of glass clattering together. His father was pouring himself another glass of what seemed to be cheap vodka, from what little he could see in the dimly lit room. He grabbed his bags, turned to the stairs, and began climbing them to his room.
His father called his name, but he ignored him. He'd talk to him in the morning. With a little luck, his father would be sober then, with a hell of a hang over, and Sam could make him feel guilty for falling back to his drinking after being clean for so long. But right now, he just wanted to go to sleep. The bus ride had been long and he was tired.