Chapter Three: Absentee Father
Sam lay in his bed, listening to the steady ticking of the wall clock and tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach.
He couldn't believe how badly he'd screwed up the hunt- his first real hunt- for Cripes sake!
No wonder Dad only let me go along on ghost-related cases, Sam thought glumly, no wonder he didn't trust me.
Sam squinted at the red glow of the alarm clock beside his bed- it was five forty-two in the morning- and sighed, his hands drifting to the baobhan sith scratches on his belly, thinking what small price he'd paid for his mistake.
W
Sam peeled his eyes open at seven a.m. just in time to go to school. He decided that sitting in a classroom was better than pacing anxiously around the motel room for hours on end. He sat up and stretched, grabbed his duffle bag and rummaged through it for some clean clothes.
Once dressed, Sam's growling stomach sent him in search of breakfast. He peered into the bar fridge and cupboards of the tiny kitchenette but came up empty- the only thing worth pursuing was the packet of complimentary instant coffee he'd found- and turned his attention on his father's and brother's duffle bags. Sam was silently grateful that his father had left the bag in their room the day before, having been too distracted with the case to remember to take it to his own room.
John Winchester almost always kept 'emergency funds' in his bag in case they ran low on cash and Dean, who had recently discovered his talent for pool and poker, should have some money squirreled away for a rainy day.
To Sam's mild dismay however, all he found was a handful of change at the bottom of his brother's bag- hardly enough to by something from a vending machine- and sat back on his heels with a sigh.
Dad can't be gone very long, Sam reminded himself; he'll just stay long enough to get Dean settled, make sure he's okay and then come back.
Sam made himself a cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen table as he drank the steaming liquid caffeine.
At ten after eight Sam slipped on his mud-covered sneakers, shrugged into his jacket and grabbed his backpack.
He gave the room a cursory once-over to make sure no weapons or other hunting paraphernalia was sitting in out in the open. The only thing that caught Sam's eye was the stack of paper's he'd printed off the day before- all about the baobhan sith and how to destroy them- which he scooped up and shoved into his backpack before leaving. He'd dump the papers on his way to school.
W
"Sam, can you stay after class for a few minutes?" Mrs. Littleton asked Sam as he stepped inside the classroom at eight-thirty.
"Oh, okay… sure," He muttered and took his usual seat at the back of the room.
Sam barely paid attention to his teacher- all he could think about was Dean.
This is ridiculous, Sam thought, why did I even decide to come today?
When the bell rang to signal the beginning of recess, Sam went to his locker and shoved all of his belongings into his backpack.
As the other kids ran out to the yard, Sam walked nonchalantly down the hallway, trying to seem casual.
Thankfully no one stopped Sam and he trudged back to the motel room.
The three blocks back home were longer than usual. Sam's stomach reminding him that he had not eaten any breakfast.
He stopped in front of a variety called Mel's and stared at the sign advertising SNACKS, SODA & SIGARETTES!
Sam could overlook the poor spelling, he decided; more interested in the prospect of getting something to eat, anyway.
A tiny bell chimed when he opened the door and the tall, whiskery, bespectacled man at the counter peered at Sam as though trying to determine whether or not he was going to cause trouble.
Sam shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and walked purposefully to the back of the store, away from the cashier's prying eyes.
He stared at the rows of snack foods- the chips and candy bars and peanuts- gearing himself up.
I can do this, Sam told himself, it'll be so easy. Just don't think about it.
Sam peered around the ceiling, searching for security cameras but saw none.
It's just one chocolate bar, Sam reasoned and his stomach gurgled as though in agreement.
Sam's hand snaked out of his pocket and hovered above a Mars bar. After one last cursory look around to make sure the coast was still clear, Sam grabbed the chocolate bar and shoved it into his pocket.
Sam breathed a sigh of relief and smiled slightly to himself. He walked down the aisle and slipped out of the store just as a group of high school kids pushed themselves inside.
Once on the sidewalk Sam broke into a run- he couldn't help it, he'd never stolen anything in his life- and didn't stop until he saw the dirty, worn out sign of the tiny motel they were staying at.
His Dad wasn't back yet- no surprise there- and Sam leaned against the motel door until he had caught his breath.
Sam reached in his pocket and took out the candy bar. He stared at the brown wrapping, the red lettering and felt a pang of guilt.
First you fuck up your first serious hunt and now you become a thief!
All contrite thoughts were dispelled when Sam's stomach gave a long whine.
He ripped the paper off the candy bar and greedily took a bite. It was just one little chocolate bar for Christ's sake! No one would miss it.
Sam forced himself to eat slowly, knowing he'd be just as hungry as before if he wolfed it. Besides, he wasn't too worried, when Dad came back he'd have money and they'd get some real food.
W
Every time Sam heard the sound of a car engine, he got up from his bed and ran to the window, pulling the dusty curtains out of the way only to be disappointed when the Impala was nowhere in sight.
Sam's eyes crept to the sunburst clock in the kitchenette at least every ten minutes or so in anticipation of his father's return.
A part of Sam was glad his father wasn't there. A part of Sam wished that his Dad wouldn't come back, but another part longed for him, he was Sam's father after all and an integral member of their small family. Sam just wished his Dad would have some faith in him, that he wouldn't shoot him down all the time. How hard was it to give Sam just a little praise for research well done? Sam knew that John was just trying to toughen him up, always saying that Sam was far too sensitive but it also hurt when Dean got all the smiles and positive reinforcements. Sam briefly wondered if Dad was so intense when Mom had been alive.
Mom probably wouldn't let Dad talk to me like I'm just a big screw up, Sam thought. If Mom was still alive, Dad wouldn't be fighting monsters. Dad wouldn't be gone for days on end.
Sam bit his lip, frustrated, and jumped when a car door slammed just outside the motel room.
The boy hurried over to the window and peeled back the curtains- there was John Winchester looking out at the parking lot- before running for the door and opening it so fast his father didn't even have time to touch the handle.
Author's Note:
1. Thanks to BerserkerHellHound for editing!
2. Thanks to Alex Megan, fledgelingfeathers, LeighAnnWallace, Superotter, jayfeather63, Samstruck, cold kagome, vincentslover, SPN Mum, MDarKspIrIt, Alley of the Labyrinth and for Reviewing.
3. Thanks to everyone who Alerted and/or Favourited.
4. Please Review! They really do make my day!