Chapter Fourteen: The Wrong Child

Several Weeks Later

Sam looked down at the gun in his hands, satisfied. His fingers ached and Sam popped the joints. He had cleaned every weapon from John's duffle bag. Just like his Dad had told him to.

Sam's head snapped up when he heard the apartment's front door open and the familiar stomp of his father's boots sound on the linoleum floor.

"Sam!" John barked and his son slid off the bed. Sam set the gun carefully on the scratched dresser and cringed as his Dad bellowed again.

"I'm coming," Sam said quietly and limped down the narrow hallway toward the sound of John's voice.

John stood in the doorway, swaying slightly, and squinted at his youngest son.

"What were you doing?" He asked and moved forward, causing Sam to take a step backwards.

"Cleaning the weapons just like you told me to," Sam said and lowered his gaze, "Sir."

John narrowed his eyes at the boy as though he didn't believe him.

Sam breathed a sigh as John stalked past him and went into the tiny apartment kitchen. He heard the refrigerator squeak as its door was opened and the clink and hiss as the cap of a beer bottle was unscrewed.

Sam didn't move until he was sure his father was in the den; the groan of the couch's rusty springs told the boy that John was settling in for the evening.

Sam made his way back to his bedroom and packed the rest of the weapons away into his father's duffle, carrying the bag into the living room and setting it down in the doorway. John didn't even look in his direction as Sam positioned the piece of luggage like an offering and retreated.

Pausing in the kitchen, Sam took a glass from the cupboard and turned on the tap, filling the cup with water.

He listened to the drone of the television as he took sips from the cup, thoughts drifting miles away to California and his brother.

A loud explosion from John's show startled Sam and the glass slipped from his fingers, shattering on the floor.

Oh no! Sam had a moment to think before he heard the couch's springs protest as his father stood up.

Quickly Sam knelt down and began picking up the larger pieces of glass, all the while praying that his Dad wouldn't come in to investigate.

Sam glanced up to see his father standing in the doorway.

"I-I'm s-sorry," Sam stammered, already terrified at the livid expression on John's face.

Sam backed against the counter as John approached him, pieces of glass crunching beneath his father's boots.

The boy let the glass he was holding fall to the floor, the shards tinkling musically against the linoleum as John grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him closer.

Tears flooded Sam's eyes and his heart pounded in his chest like a jackhammer.

"Pl-please," Sam begged, "I'm s-s-sorry!"

John's expression darkened, "You good-for-nothing, clumsy bastard. Can't do a goddamn thing right, can you?"

Sam closed his eyes as his father raised a fist and slammed it into his face.

John's wedding ring caught on the skin beneath Sam's eye and tore it, a gash bleeding freely down the boy's cheek.

John let his son go and Sam fell to the floor, one hand going to the seeping wound on his face.

"I- I'll cl-clean it u-up," Sam stuttered and tears fell, mixing with blood.

"Damn right you will," John hissed angrily, "And then get out of my sight."

Sam nodded. He could already feel his eye starting to swell and the gash burned terribly.

John stalked back to the den and Sam hurriedly gathered the pieces of glass, unmindful of sharp edges- cutting his fingers and the palms of his hands- as he fought to keep from crying out loud.

W

Sam's eyes opened as soon as he heard the front door slam shut- his Dad was gone for the day- and sat up in bed.

Digging around in his duffle bag, Sam found a relatively clean t-shirt and picked up the jeans he'd been wearing the day before from the growing pile of clothes in one corner of the room.

Once dressed, Sam went into the tiny bathroom and brushed his teeth, trying not to look at the gash on his cheek or the blackening around his eye.

It's not that bad, Sam told himself, it's not that bad.

Spitting toothpaste into the basin, Sam wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and turned away from the mirror.

Limping into the kitchen, Sam saw the table strewn with papers- his father's research- about a resident witch that John was looking for with help from a local hunter named Mustaine.

Sam carefully settled the papers into a neat pile and turned his attention to the cupboards and refrigerator, his growling stomach a priority.

Peering into the fridge, Sam saw numerous bottles of beer and a jug of milk a week past its expiry date.

Wrinkling his nose, Sam uncapped the jug and sniffed at its content, dumping the sour milk down the drain in the kitchen sink a moment later.

Throwing the empty jug into the garbage beneath the sink, Sam opened the cupboards, desperate to find something edible.

His eyes lit on a crumpled bread bag, the last three slices not too stale. Sam pulled the bag down from the cupboard and leaned against the counter as he munched away at the crumbly Wonder Bread.

W

Sam sat down on the stoop of the apartment building, just trying to enjoying the warm fall weather- an Indian summer- before he went back inside.

The sound of laughing caught Sam's attention and he smiled wanly at the sight of three boys about his own age kicking a soccer ball back and forth on the far side of the parking lot.

Sam remembered the few times he and Dean played one-on-one basketball together, often while staying at Bobby's salvage yard, and felt his heart ache for his absent brother.

The sounds of laughter and good-natured shouting come closer and Sam saw a streak of black and white as the soccer ball bounced off the front step.

"Hey! Kick it back!" A voice called out and Sam's gaze sought out the source.

One of the boys, maybe one or two years younger than Sam, with floppy blonde hair and wide blue eyes, was walking toward him.

"Kick the ball back over here, yeah?" The boy said loudly as he moved closer to Sam.

Sam froze; what do I do? What can I do? What should I do?

He stared at the ball sitting on the ground a few feet from his perch to the boy who was coming steadily closer.

The boy gave a goofy, friendly smile as he approached Sam.

"Ya wanna play?" He asked; blue eyes taking in Sam's baggy clothes, worn-out sneakers and lean face.

Sam stared; what do I say? What can I say?

The blonde boy kicked the ball in the air, bounced it off his head and caught it, peering curiously at Sam.

"Kevin! C'mon," One of the boy's friends called out and the blonde boy turned around.

Sam slumped as he watched the other boys continue their game as if he didn't even exist.

After a few more moments of watching the other children, Sam stood and went back inside, taking the stairs to the apartment and closed the door softly behind him while choking back a sob.

Author's Note:

1. Chapter title comes from an R.E.M song of the same name.

2. Thanks to samgirl19, AmaraRae, cold kagome, Serenityhimesheppard, Samstruck, SPN Mum, criminally charmed, LeighAnnWallace, pottyandweezlbe89, d767468, Jeanny, Peregrinus, Guest, Eris-R-Renee, and Souless666 for reviewing.

3. Thanks to everyone who alerted/favourited.

4. Reviews are like candy! Over one hundred reviews! Thanks so much everyone!