Sam got to his room, and closed the door. He thought for a moment, and without knowing why, he put the look on the door. He threw one of his bags on top of the bed, putting the other on the floor next to the door, and walked to a desk on the far wall of the room, the desk sat under a big window, granting view to the front of the house. He turned on a lamp and emptied his pockets. Keys, cellphone, his wallet and some loose change.
He walked back to the bed and flopped down on it, closing his eyes for a moment. He opened them again, and made a strange face as his eyes tried to focus on the blue bag that lied next to him, too close to his face. He backed his head a little to look at the bag, and got up. He opened it and began taking his clothes out, making piles on the bed to put them away later. He had emptied the bag, and was storing it on the high shelve of his closet when he heard his father's steps on the stairs. He stood still, listening, to see if he stopped at his door or went on to his own.
After a few seconds, the knob of his door turned. Noticing the door was locked, his father began jerking it violently. When the door didn't open, he began pounding on it with his hand.
"Sam! I was talking to you, why didn't you stop?" Fuck, that was like ten minutes ago, talk about zoning out.
"Saaam! Open this door, right now." His father yelled in a warning tone. Silence for a few seconds. "Do you hear me?" The pounding continued.
Sam stood next to the closet, paralyzed, staring at the door. He heard his father's voice through the door, but he wasn't listening to the words. He was now a six year old, and he was hiding with Dean in the closet, while his father tried to open the door. Sam was shaking visibly and his brother spoke soothing words to try and calm him down. Suddenly, the closet door was flung open, the brothers startled, looking up to the figure of their father standing over them.
Dean was yanked out of the closet, his father held him by his forearm, screaming at him about a broken plate, or a vase, or something stupid like that. Sam tried to help him, but was thrown to the floor. His father hadn't even turned to him, he had just sent a smack in the general direction of the annoyance. After shaking Dean hard and screaming for a few more minutes, his father had just tossed him off, finally getting all of his frustrations out of his system.
His father told them from time, after a beating, that if they ever said anything, someone would come take them and send each to different foster homes.
When he got a little older, Dean read what he could find about foster homes, thinking it was an empty threat. He was very disappointed to find his father had actually told the truth. While the people that would come for them would be trying to help them, they would probably separate him from Sam. And he couldn't allow that. So, Dean had worn long sleeved shirts to school for two weeks in the middle of May to hide the bruise that had formed in his arm from his teachers.
Sam's little trip down memory lane was interrupted when the pounding on the door stopped. He looked at the door, taking a careful step forward, when suddenly there was a loud bang on the door. His father was slamming his body against it trying to force it open.
Sam paced around the room, holding closed fists to his temples, his eyes shut tightly. He was so tired of this. A part of him wanted to open up that door and face his father, he was so tired of being scared. The other part wanted to crawl into his bed and curl into fetal position.
As he walked around the room, his fear and anger raising, he saw the lights of the room flicker violently. He turned to the ceiling to see the lamps, the lights shone brightly on, nothing wrong with them. Sam stared at them in confusion for a second before he heard a rattling sound from the other side of the room. He turned to see his keys and the coins, shaking on top of the desk, like they had life of their own.
"Oh, please, not now." Sam pleaded to the empty room. He heard the door finally give, and turned to see his father standing a little inside the door. His face was a mask of pure rage. He approached his son, and Sam took a step back with everyone he took forward. Sam's retreat was stopped by the wall. And he just stared down at his father, he was afraid, but he didn't want it to show. He stood still waiting for his father to talk.
"Didn't you hear me calling you?" His father asked, he was pissed. "Didn't you hear my gentle knocking on the door?" John asked, and Sam would have snorted at his father's sarcasm if he wasn't too scared to move. "You still live in my house. I am you father, I raised you, and you will show some fucking respect!." His father poked his chest with a finger. Sam's anger was fast surpassing his fear. He glared down at his father, knowing his height made him mad, and spoke in an even, defiant tone that he would regret later. "You may be my father, but you sure as hell didn't raise me. Your four year old son took your place as a father the day mom died and you began drinking your ass off." John's eyes widened with fury at his son's insolence. "You didn't raise me, Dean did." Sam added. A little of his self confidence escaping him at the sight of his father's face, contorted in anger.
"How dare you?" Sam's father voice was a low growl. His closed fists shook at his sides. "I lost everything because of you. But I fed you and put a roof over your head you ungrateful little shit. You killed your mother. YOU KILLED MY MARY! " John screamed, and Sam jumped. His father's face close to his, his alcoholic breath made Sam sick.
"Mom died in a fire, it was an accident." Sam said the line like he had it practiced. This wasn't the first time his father said something like that. It had taken many years of Dean telling him otherwise for Sam to lose the guilt his father had tried to burn into his brain. "I didn kill her." Sam said in a low whisper.
"Yes, you did." His father retorted, angrily. "Missouri told me."
"Who?" Sam stared at his father with a strange look. Apparently that vodka was kicking in.
"Missouri. She knows." His father said without looking at him. "She told me the truth. Someone finally told me the truth." Sam didn't know if his father was still talking to him. He seemed to be reliving a conversation he'd had earlier. "She told me what you are." John looked at his son with disgust. Sam just tried to make sense of what his father was telling him. "She told me how the thing that took your mother was really after you." Sam's eyes widened at that.
Missouri, whoever he or she was, somehow knew about him. About the things he could do. 'What you are'. What else could his father be referring to? This Missouri person must have been talking about the dreams and the things moving by themselves. He had always had dreams of his mother. Pinned to the ceiling, her stomach cut open, blood dripping, and then she was engulfed by the flames. He had them before Dean had told him about his mother's death. He knew his mother's death wasn't an accident. But he never thought it was his fault. He had believed it for a while, because his father told him it was since he was a child. But Dean had convinced him it wasn't true. And Dean didn't lie. Not to him, anyway.
"I wish It had taken you instead of her. I wish she hadn't been trying to save you." Sam looked back at his father. "I would have her with me now, instead of a disrespectful, good for nothing fuck like you!" His father suddenly grabbed him by the neck with his right hand, shoving him against the wall before pulling him by his throat and throwing him on the floor. Sam didn't have time to think before his father kicked him on the stomach. The blow made him curl about himself, covering his stomach with his arms. He gasped for air.
"Why her and not you?" His father said as he kicked him again. Sam couldn't think straight from the pain he felt on his ribs. "Why?" His father kept going. "WHY?"
"Stop." Sam pleaded. "Stop it." His father didn't stop. Suddenly Sam had enough. He wasn't a little kid anymore. He wouldn't take this anymore. "STOP!" Sam screamed, rolling to his back and kicking his father off of him.
John stumbled back a couple of steps. Sam slowly got to his feet, an arm wrapped around his ribs. His breathing came in quick pants. His father looked at him in disbelief.
"Murderer." John spoke again. He seemed a little calmer by the shock of Sam fighting back. "All this time, you lived in my house, and I had no idea." He said.
"I didn't kill her." Sam answered. He was trying to convince himself more than his father.
"Murderer!" John screamed, charging at his son.
"I DIDN'T KILL HER" Sam matched his father's volume, closing his eyes, bracing for the blow.
But it never came. Instead he heard the sound of the window breaking, and a rain of glass pieces falling to the ground. He opened his eyes to see his father was gone. He looked around, confused. His father was there a second and the next he wasn't.
He tentatively walked to the broken window. After reaching it, he looked down.
His father lay in the grass in front of the house, glass shards all around him. His eyes were wide open, looking into emptiness, his legs bent at awkward angles. He wasn't moving.
Sam's looked down, hypnotized by the sight of his dead father. He heard a woman scream and saw the neighbor across the street standing in front of her house. She ran inside, screaming for someone, probably her husband.
Sam turned around, feeling like he was on auto pilot. He sat at the edge of his bed, staring at the wall. He shuddered violently. He looked up at the window again and saw his cellphone shine at him under the lamp's light.
He got up slowly and walked to the desk. He grabbed the phone with a trembling hand and dialed a number. After a couple rings, someone answered at the other end.
"Dean?" Sam's voice was a shaky whisper and he didn't have to say anything else.
"Sammy?" His brother's voice was immediately filled with concern. "What happened?"
"I need you." Sam said, looking up as he heard the sirens. "I need you." He repeated, his voice breaking, and he hung up. He sat at the bed again and waited for the police to arrive.
Author's Note: I got a little carried away with this chapter, I wonder if it was too much drama. Please let me know what you think.
I didn't know schools didn't attend in July so lets change it to say...uhmmm...May :P