A/N: This chapter turned out to be much longer than I anticipated, but it does bring the previous fight to a fragile solution. This does not mean, however, that the story is over. There is more to come. s
Sam had been in his room for close to an hour. His stomach rumbled, and he smelled the food cooking in the kitchen, but he chalked the smell up to wishful thinking. There was no way, after the way he'd been acting, that his mom had made his favorite meal. No way.
The hole in Sam's heart that was constant and dull was now aching and throbbing. He'd tried to be tough in the argument with his parents, but now that they were gone he was failing. He'd seen the look of hurt on their face when he brought up Dean. It had only been there for a split second before it morphed into anger, but it had been there. Sam truly was sorry for his parents' loss. He couldn't imagine how it felt to lose a kid.
But he wasn't sorry for what he'd said. He meant that. His parents had stopped being his parents when Dean died. As a toddler, he'd spent more time with Bobby than with his parents. Bobby had seen most of his firsts-first word, first steps, first day of school. The arrangement between his parents and Bobby had worked fine for the first few years of Sam's life. He stayed with Bobby while his parents 'worked', and they would come see him whenever they could.
Then, the summer before third grade, things had changed. Sam had overheard his mom and dad talking to Bobby about a 'hunt' they'd been on. He had been coming down the stairs from his room when he heard them talking. It was the middle of the night, so he'd been walking pretty slowly, when his parents started to walk up the stairs. John had an arm around Mary, heading up to their bed, when Sam heard him say that he'd be glad when 'all the monsters' were gone.
That had opened up a rather uncomfortable conversation between eight-year-old Sam, Bobby, and his parents. They'd told him the truth about the supernatural, leading to Sam having nightmares for a while that had never really completely subsided. Things had seemed okay after that, until three days later, when Sam had woken up to find his things packed away and his mother and father ready to leave. He remembered the day well. He was happy to finally be able to be with his parents, and he didn't realize what exactly had happened for a while. Bobby had kept a smile on his face, telling Sam he'd see and talk to him soon, but of course that had been a lie.
They had gotten in a fight, over Sam, and John and Mary had taken Sam away from Bobby.
That had been four years earlier. At first, the thrill of seeing his mom and dad more was enough to recover from not being able to see Bobby. It was enough to be able to get past losing his school friends, his home, and the security that living with Bobby provided. But, over time, the novelty of being with his parents quickly faded. They never stayed in one place longer than a month, more often no more than a week at a time. Things came to a head when John and Mary missed Sam's school play. He'd refused to talk to either of them for two weeks, especially when they moved a week later. All that changed when Mary told him the good news six weeks ago. They were staying in the house for a year.
But, Sam thought bitterly, apparently his trust meant nothing to his parents. Because they'd thrown it away for some unknown threat that would probably mean nothing anyway. His parents never told him anything, but if he had to guess, they'd found some lead on Dean's killer and were chasing it.
Dean. Everything led back to Dean. He thought back to his childhood imaginary friend named Dean. Dean would appear anytime he was missing his parents and he was alone. He would play with Sam and talk to him, listen when he would cry for his mommy and daddy. He'd wondered after he got a little older whether his imaginary friend Dean was actually his brother Dean, or if it was just what imaginary friends were supposed to be, a figment of the imagination. He'd thought about asking his parents what they thought, but had never been able to find a way to slip it into conversation casually enough that it wouldn't cause a big blowout like the fight tonight.
His mind looped back to his mother's threat. Taking him out of school and forcing him to homeschool. What she'd said about it stung. Because maybe, just maybe, if we take away what you love, you'll understand at least a fraction of what it's like for me and your father day in and day out when it comes to your brother. Sam had bit back a retort in the living room, and he didn't regret not saying it. It would have only added fuel to the fire. Maybe I love going to school because it's the only constant thing I have in my life. It's always there for me, even when you're not.
Sam often wondered if his parents loved him. The thought had never crossed his mind before that his parents might doubt if he loved them. Did they know that every time they were away, Sam cried himself to sleep wondering if they'd even be alive the next morning? Did they know that he constantly feared getting the phone call or the visit from the police or the fire department or social services or Bobby that he was now an orphan?
Would they care?
"Sam? Can we talk, honey?"
Sam sniffed and answered, "If you have to, but I think we talked enough."
"Sam, we mean talk. Really talk." John tried. "Can we do that?"
Sam sat up and noticed that both of his parents looked visibly upset. He could tell his mother had been crying, and though he'd never seen it before, he thought his dad might have been crying too.
"Talk about what?"
Mary walked in and took a seat on the edge of Sam's bed, and John stayed in the doorway. As always, his mom looked apologetic and his father's face was unreadable. Mary reached out a hand for Sam's, and Sam thought about pulling it back from her out of spite. But he didn't. He let her hold his hand and waited patiently for someone to start the conversation.
"Sam, we're sorry."
"Sorry for what?" Sam asked. He tried his best to keep the hurt and the anger out of his voice. He didn't want to start another fight, but he had to know what exactly they were apologizing for.
Mary swallowed. "You were right. With what you said. Your dad and I haven't been good parents to you since…"
Mary spotted the photo Sam was holding and her eyes swam with tears again. She gently took the photo from Sam and looked at it, placing a hand on her mouth and crying softly. Sam was alarmed. It had been a long time since he remembered his mom crying over Dean like this. It happened mostly on Dean's birthday and the anniversary of his death, but the rest of the year, Dean was pretty much a taboo subject in whatever room or apartment or rental house the Winchesters just happened to call home.
"Mom?" Sam asked. "Mom, I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have said that. I didn't mean to hurt you."
Mary shook her head and handed the photo to John, who refused to look at it. He turned it on its back so all that could be seen was the white backing of the picture.
"Thank you for saying that, honey, but you're still right. Dad and I haven't been very fair to you at all. You deserve to be a kid. You deserve to be happy."
Sam was shocked. He didn't know what to say. He looked to his father, who was simply nodding his head in agreement with his mother. Sam said nothing, still not forming a good response.
"I want you to always tell me how you feel, even if you're mad at me. Especially if I deserve it. I will never forgive myself for letting you get your heart set on staying in Why and then taking it away from you. I will always be sorry for that. Okay?"
"Okay, Mom. I forgive you."
Sam's words shocked even him. He could see the surprise register on Mary's face and a smile start to form there. She looked to John who seemed equally surprised. Since entering puberty, Sam did not forgive easily. He held grudges, and resentments tended to get swept under the rug rather than forgiven. Eventually, given enough time, Sam's anger or hurt would fade and they'd simply move on.
"You too, Dad."
"Thank you, bud." John said with a smile.
"Sam, that's not all. I want you to answer a question for me, and I want you to be honest about it. Do you feel like Dad and I care about you?"
"Mom, please, can we not have this talk?"
"No, Sam. I feel like we have to have this talk. I think all three of us are hurting, and we need to get this out."
"I tried to get it out."
"I know. I know, honey. I'm sorry for that. So let's start over, okay? Please?"
Sam nodded. "Okay."
"Please answer my question. Do you feel like Dad and I care about you?"
Sam shook his head. "No. You'll just get mad at me again."
"I swear we won't."
Sam took a deep breath and thought carefully about his answer. He spoke slowly, trying to keep his voice even and as calm as possible. "You two give and give and give everything you have to everyone else. You'd give the shirt off your back to a complete stranger. But you can't even give me one uninterrupted hour."
John started to overrule Sam. "Sam, I've tried…"
"I know you've made an effort, Dad. I know you have. And I do appreciate it. But do you know why I stopped taking you up on those offers? Because the last time I did, you took me to Plucky's."
"Okay. And…?"
"Dad, I hate Plucky's. I'm scared of clowns." Sam said.
Sam's declaration admission took both parents by surprise. "You're scared of clowns?" Mary asked.
"Since when?" John replied.
"Since I was seven and Bobby took me trick or treating. This older kid in a clown costume got in my face and scared me."
"Why didn't you just tell me that when we got to Plucky's, Sam?" John asked. "I would've gone somewhere else. I thought you'd like it."
"Because I shouldn't have to tell you that I'm scared of clowns. It showed me the truth. You two don't know me. You don't know me at all. And you don't want to try." Sam was slowly gaining back his courage. "And every time we have been together since? You spend the whole time with your pager in your hand waiting on someone to call. Same with you, Mom. The only time you look at me and talk to me is when you're telling me that we're moving again, or that you're sorry because you and Dad aren't going to be here for something."
Mary was stunned. She knew that Sam was hurt, but had no idea it went back this far. Sam was crying again, but he wiped his face and kept talking.
"Do you know what my first memory is?" Sam asked. "My first real, clear memory?"
"No." Mary whispered. "What is it?"
"I was six. Bobby took me to the park and there was this mom pushing her little boy on the swing set. Every time he came back to her, she'd grab the swing and tickle him. Kiss him on the cheek, make him laugh. Then she'd push him again. He'd come back to her, and she'd grab him and tickle him again. I watched them for a long time. And all I could think was, why can't my mom look at me like that? Just for a minute? Like I was the most important thing in the world to her. Like she loved me."
Mary wiped away a tear coming down her face. She'd wanted Sam to talk, and he was obliging.
"And Dad? My first real memory of you? It was a couple weeks after that. You and Mom had left on another hunt. I had a bully at school. He would grab my lunch from me every day and if I didn't give it to him, he'd beat me up. I was gonna tell Bobby about it, but Bobby told me you were on the way home. So I waited. And I waited. And I waited another two days. When you finally came home, you had a broken arm and two broken fingers. Bobby had to leave with Mom to go and finish the job you two had been on."
John's memory finally recalled what Sam was talking about, and he wanted to retreat into himself and forget the whole thing. "Sam…."
"What happened, Sam?"
"When I came home from school that first day, Mom and Bobby were gone, so it was just me and you, Dad. I tried to tell you about the bully at school, but you were drunk and hopped up on pain killers. You got mad at me and sent me to my room. I tried again before I went to bed, same thing. The next day I decided I'd had enough, so when he came up to me to take my lunch, I told him no. He jumped on me and we got in a fight. We both got sent home, and Dad had to come pick me up."
"Then what?" Mary asked.
"He wouldn't listen to me about the fight. He yelled at me for it for hours, then told me I had to stay in my room 'till you and Bobby got home. Three days later."
"John?"
"It was years ago, Mary."
"Well, apparently, he's never forgotten it." Mary said. "What the hell were you thinking making a six-year-old stay in his room for three days?"
"See, this is exactly the problem!" Sam exclaimed, breaking up the budding fight between his parents.
"What are you talking about, Sam?" John asked.
"We're supposed to be talking about how we can fix what's wrong between us now, and you two are sniping back and forth about something that happened years ago."
John and Mary eyed each other with a shamed expression. They both took a deep breath and looked back to Sam.
"You're right, Sam. We're sorry." Mary said. "We're here with you now. Go on."
Sam didn't miss a beat. "The reason I got so excited when you told me we were staying in Why? Because I thought that maybe, just maybe, I'd have some friends again. I'd have someone who could distract me when you two were gone. So that maybe the only time of day I'd have to sit here and worry and cry and wonder whether you and Dad were alive would be when I was trying to go to sleep at night."
"You cry for us when we aren't here?" Mary asked, genuinely surprised.
"Yes. Why does that surprise you?"
"Because you seem so angry when we get home." John said.
"I'm not angry. I'm scared and I'm worried. You just leave for days at a time and you never call, except maybe once or twice to make sure I'm not leaving the house or doing anything you think I shouldn't. It's not fair. At least you two have each other."
Mary felt the breath leave her and she wondered how she'd missed such glaring, obvious problems with Sam. You're never here when he needs you, that's how you missed it. She looked to John, who seemed to be processing the new information the same way she was. He wasn't.
"That's the same reason I like school so much. Because it passes the time till you and Dad get back and I don't have to worry so much or so constantly."
"Which was why you didn't want to do homeschooling."
Sam nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
Mary sighed, considering. "That makes sense."
"Look. I get it, okay? Our lives are screwed up. I know we can't ever have one hundred percent normal. But what you guys don't seem to get is this. I'd give up every friend I might have, I'd do homeschooling, I'd do whatever you wanted. I just want…" Sam swallowed hard, his last thought buried beneath his desire to keep the peace.
"Just want what, Sam?"
Sam decided to risk it. "You've both given up your life for Dean. I just want to matter to you as much as he does."
"Is there anything else we need to know?" Mary asked kindly.
Sam shook his head. "No." he answered quietly.
"Okay. My turn." Mary said. "John, hand me that picture, please."
John handed her the photo, not turning it over for fear of it striking a chord in his own heart. After what had just happened in the living room, he didn't think he had the capacity to go through that again. Mary turned the photo over and gave it back to Sam.
"Did you know, when you were really little, that your dad and I never got up in the middle of the night with you?"
"You didn't? Why not?"
"Because Dean would always beat us there." Mary said. "Every time we heard you start to cry, we'd get up and we'd find Dean there already."
"Really?"
"Yep. He loved you so much. In fact, ask your dad what Dean said to him the night you were born."
"What'd he say?"
John laughed for the first time in days. "He kept asking me if we'd babyproofed the house for you. He hadn't even met you yet, but he wanted to make sure we'd plugged up the outlets, locked up the cabinets, made sure you couldn't get ahold of anything that would hurt you. Even when I told him that you wouldn't be old enough to crawl for months, he kept telling me we couldn't bring you home 'til the house was safe."
"He cared about me that much?"
"He did. I think he wanted to raise you just as much as we did." Mary said. "And I know it doesn't feel like it, honey, but your dad and I do love you as much as we love Dean."
"I don't feel it." Sam said honestly. "I'm sorry, Mom. I'm not saying that to make you guys feel bad, but it's the truth. I don't feel loved. Not by you guys."
"Give us a chance to change that. Please."
"Do you want to?" Sam asked. "Did you mean what you said? That you don't like coming home to me anymore?"
Mary sighed and turned to John. "John?"
"Yes. I did mean it." John admitted. "But I don't dread it because we're coming home to you. That's the good part. That's the part we look forward to. But Sam, just like you said you don't feel like your mom and I care about you…"
John sighed in frustration. He was so bad at explaining how he felt in a calm way. It was part of the reason he and Mary were such a good match. When he was starting to lose his temper with Sam, and at risk of hurting his feelings and damaging their relationship, Mary would jump in and rescue him. But this time she stayed silent. Hopefully, it meant he was on the right track.
"Just like you said you don't feel like your mom and I care about you, when we've just gotten home and you're making us feel like crap the second that we do get back to you, it makes us feel like you don't care about us. Does that make sense?"
"Yeah, Dad. It does." Sam said. "I'm sorry."
"Look, Sam. Can I ask a favor?" Mary asked.
"What is it?"
"If Dad and I get home, and you're upset with something…I meant what I said. I want you to tell us. I do. But can you give us a little while before we do talk about it? Let me and Dad get settled a bit?"
"How long is a little while?"
"Two hours." Mary said. "Enough time for us to get cleaned up. I swear to you, we'll talk if you're upset at us. You can tell us anything you want. The only rule, which all of us need to follow," Mary took a pointed look in John's direction, "is that we will listen to what each other has to say, no matter how hard it is, and we will all be respectful. Are we agreed?"
"Agreed." Sam and John said in unison.
"Okay. Good. Now, is there anything else either of you wanted to talk about?" John and Sam both shook their heads 'no'. "Then I say we eat lunch."
"Mom? Did you make what I think you made?"
"If you think I made chicken stir fry, then I made what you think I made." Mary said with a smile.
"You made my favorite lunch? Even after the fight we had?"
"I did." Mary said. "You hungry?"
"Thanks, Mom." Sam said. "Thank you."
"You're welcome. And I think I say with some confidence, that after Dad driving so far last night and me being so tired, that we have no problem turning off our pager and the phone today."
"That sounds awesome." John said sincerely.
"Really?" Sam asked. "What are we gonna do?"
"What do you wanna do?"
Sam thought about it carefully. "Can we just stay here? Watch movies or something?"
"That sounds like a plan."
For four hours, all seemed better. The three of them camped out in the living room, eating all the lunch Mary had made, and nearly all of the half gallon of ice cream John had bought for them at the grocery store earlier. Sam was nearly in a food coma, sitting between John and Mary on the couch, when a knock at the door startled them. It was Jesse, the apartment building manager and John and Mary's former hunting partner.
"Hey, John. Sorry, but there's a call for you in the office. They say it's important."
"Who is it?"
"I'm not sure. Jim something?"
"Probably Jim Murphy. I'm coming."
John followed Jessie out, leaving behind Sam and Mary, both of whom had a pit in their stomachs. Anything bad enough to make Jim call the office of their new apartment building couldn't have been good. When John came back less than two minutes later, he had a deeply regretful look on his face.
"It's Caleb."
"What about him?" Mary asked.
"He's dealing with what he thought was a single werewolf. Turns out it's a pack and there's no one else to help."
Mary cursed inwardly. Not at Caleb, but at the circumstances. She had just convinced Sam to trust her again, and now he had a reason not to. But they couldn't leave Caleb out there alone. Sam hated it just as much as Mary did, but when he saw the conflicting look on Mary's face, he decided to cut her a break.
"Mom? It's okay. Go check on Caleb."
A surprised Mary looked over at Sam. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah. He needs you more than me." Sam said. He was trying to be gracious; he didn't mean that, even for a second. "It's okay. Go on."
A relieved John said, "I'll put our duffles in the car. We leave in five minutes, we can be there in two hours."
Mary nodded. "Okay. I'll be right there." When John was gone, she turned back to Sam. "Thank you. Thank you for being so understanding about this."
"Mom? I don't mean to sound selfish with this, but can I ask for something? Something in return for keeping the promise I made earlier? About giving you and Dad some time if I'm upset with you?"
"What is it?"
"Will you think about changing your mind? About school?" Sam asked. "Please. I just don't want to be here by myself all the time."
The tears Sam was fighting back when he talked about being alone nearly broke Mary. She came close to telling John to go for Caleb on his own and to leave her there with Sam. But werewolves needed every available Bobby. So Mary placed a hand on Sam's cheek and smiled.
"Yes. I will think about school. We'll talk about it together when I come back. The decision's still mine and your father's, but even if we do decide on homeschooling, you are not restricted to your room or this apartment. You will be able to have friends. Okay?"
"Okay. Thanks, Mom."
"Sam?" John spoke from the door with his and Mary's duffel bags. "This means a lot. You being so understanding about this. It really does. But Mary, we have to go."
"I know." Mary planted a quick kiss on Sam's cheek. "We will be back. As soon as we possibly can. Okay? Lock the door behind us…"
"Salt all the windows and doors after that." Sam recited.
"Good boy. I love you, Sammy."
"Love you too, Mom. Bye, Dad."
As the door closed behind his parents, Sam tried to ignore the feeling that things were about to change, again. This time for the bad. He paused the movie and got up to salt the door, walking right past Dean but not seeing him, trying to ignore the painful thumping of his heart.
"Sorry, Mommy and Daddy." The perpetual toddler Dean said, watching Sam take his seat again on the couch. "I can't leave until I know Sammy's safe."