Chapter Eighteen: My Name Is Wearing Me Out
Sam watches John silently from underneath his long bangs. He sits quietly on his bed, trying not to draw attention to himself.
John stalks around the crappy motel room, beer in hand and a dangerous glint in his eyes.
Sam knows to stay quiet and not get in his father's way because John will lash out at anyone who's fool enough to be within arm's length and that always ends up being his son.
The back of Sam's neck itches but he doesn't even move to scratch it. Sam looks down at his arm, his eyes immediately drawn to the scars marring the pale skin- cigarette burns- and rolls down the sleeves of his shirt to his wrist.
I wish he'd just go out, Sam thinks, get drunk at a bar and then pass out in some gutter when he's two sheets to the wind.
As though reading his son's mind, John whips around to face him, knuckles white where they clench the bottle of beer.
Sam cringes away from his Dad's furious expression. He hasn't even done anything!
John grabs at Sam's shoulder and shoves him into the wall. Sam's breath leaves his chest with a whoosh.
"Dad! Stop!" Sam cries out and tries to pry his father's hand away from his shoulder. John's grip only tightens, grinding the bones together. Sam groans in pain as his shoulder protests the ill treatment.
Sam's head snaps back as his father hits him with the beer bottle. Blood sprays from Sam's mouth and slides down his throat, choking him.
Sam can't catch his breath and John hits him again. He groans and his legs give out from under him.
When Sam falls to the ground his father lets him go and John begins kicking at him; steel-toed boots bruising ribs. Sam folds his arms over his head for protection, trying to breathe past the blood leaking down his throat and the pain that seems to envelope him like a cocoon. Sam didn't even notice the tears leaking from his eyes and down his cheeks.
Finally John lets up and Sam gasps for air, feeling like a drowning man who reaches the surface in the nick of time. Sam doesn't move from his position, he keeps his head down, fingers knotted in his own hair.
W
Sam wipes blood away from his chin as he looks up and he stares at his father, asleep on his bed- passed out, more like- and freezes when he sees John's cell phone sticking out of his jean's back pocket.
Sam thinks back on the past months and realizes that nothing is going to change. John is never going to change. If Sam doesn't do something, it will just continue. John knew Sam would never try to run away; Sam was sure that if he tried his father would find him. Sam lied to anybody curious enough to ask where he'd gotten his cuts and bruises from because he was terrified of Child Protective Services; John had told him horror stories about foster homes the first time one woman in the apartment they were staying at had asked Sam about a black eye he had been sporting.
Slowly, silently Sam creeps over to where John is sprawled out on his stomach on the motel bed. Sam can hear a light snore coming from the man as he reaches out with shaking fingers.
Carefully, Sam slips the cell phone from John's pocket and stood for a moment, staring at the small black device in his hands. He couldn't help but think of what had happened the last time he'd tried to ask for help.
He was sure Bobby hadn't attempted to call John back since. Even if he did, there was no way his Dad would tell the older hunter where they were. Sam had no idea where Caleb was- and he was unsure about calling him, having only met him briefly a handful of times- and he hadn't seen Pastor Jim since they'd picked Dean up from Blue Earth months ago.
Sam bit his lip. Dean. That was it. His brother was his only option. But his brother was all the way in California.
What if Dean doesn't want to talk to me, Sam thought, he hasn't called but once since he left.
I have to try; Sam told himself and brushed tears of frustration from his eyes. Dean can't hate me that much, can he?
Sam felt abandoned by his older brother. Dean had left him alone with their father who simply had no use for Sam and hadn't looked back.
Sam gulped but tightened his hand into a fist around the communication device.
He padded as silently as possible into the motel's small bathroom, closing the door behind him. Sam's breathing came in short, shallow gasps as sharp pain bloomed in his chest every time his lungs expanded against his abused ribs.
Not bothering to turn on the lights, Sam flipped open the phone and turned it on. The glow of the screen and number pad seemed cold to Sam, almost as if it were mocking him, knowing Dean wasn't going to come and rescue him like he'd done so long ago when their mother had died.
Dean's number had been deleted from John's contact list but Sam remembered it. He pushed the correct keys and held the phone up to his ear. His breathing hitched as the phone rang, heart pounding with anxiety.
Sam's mouth went as dry as cotton when the ringing stopped and he heard breathing on the other end.
"D-Dean?" Sam squeaked out, whispering from fear.
"Sammy?" Dean's astonished, tired voice asked and Sam choked back a sob. Dean wasn't hanging up the phone!
Ears keen to the sound of his father just in the other room, Sam froze when John gave a loud snort.
"Dean, pl-please come…" Sam hesitated, his tongue felt thick in his mouth and he struggled to get the words out, "Please… I'm…"
"Sam, what's wrong? Is Dad hurt? Are you okay? Was it a hunt?" Dean's worried voice asked and the cell hissed with static from the tenuous connection.
Sam closed his eyes for a moment. He wished it was a hunt. He wished his father had been injured and needed both his sons there with him.
"…I'm…" Sam hesitated again when he thought he heard his father shift, the rustling of clothes against bed sheets loud in his ears.
"…in… Del-" Sam didn't finish the word. John tore the bathroom door open and snatched the phone from Sam's hand, throwing it onto the tiled floor where it smashed, black chips of plastic flying in every direction as the screen shattered and the battery popped out the back.
"You little shit!" John snarled, his eyes looking crazed as he bore down on his son.
Sam tried to kick away from his father, his back hitting the bathtub as John got hold of his ankle. Sam slid across the tiled floor, hands scrabbling for purchase until he hooked his fingers into the doorframe.
John's vice-like grip on Sam's leg tightened and his fingers slipped away from the faux wood.
John dragged Sam across the stained motel carpet before releasing his leg, only to turn Sam over onto his back and pin him with his knees.
"Who'd you call? Huh? You little bastard!" John shouted in his son's face.
Tears of terror streamed from Sam's eyes and soaked the hair at his temples, he gasped for air, trying to answer his father's question.
"D-D-De-" Sam choked out and sees that his answer only enrages his father further.
John pulled a fist back and slammed it into Sam's mouth. Blood leaked from between the boy's lips, staining his teeth red.
"I. Told. You. Never. To. Say. That. Name!" John punctuated every word with a blow to his son's face or chest.
Sam groaned and tried to curl in on himself, prevented from doing so by his father's knees digging into his abdomen.
John's hands twitched and wrapped around Sam's throat, choking him. Sam could hear his father saying something to him but the sound of his pounding heart was louder in his ears.
Sam couldn't breathe. His legs pushed against the carpet in an involuntary attempt to flee. He tried to push his father away, tried to pry his hands away from his neck but wasn't strong enough. Gasping for air, Sam was sure he looked like a fish out of water and would have laughed if he hadn't been choking to death.
Black spots flashed in Sam's vision, growing more numerous and larger, threatening to blind him completely.
Sam's hands fell limply to his sides, his legs ceased kicking and his vision turned gray.
Sam was barely aware when his father took his hands from his neck and John's presence disappeared from above him.
A minute passed… two minutes… Then Sam was choking and coughing, trying to suck as much air into his oxygen-deprived body as possible.
Sam rolled weakly to his side. He didn't see John; he must have been on the other side of the room but what he did see caused his heart to leap in his chest.
His father's open duffle bag sat only a couple of feet away from him!
Sam's brain didn't even connect the thoughts as he rolled onto his stomach, still trying to breathe normally, and dragged himself toward the dark green army-issued duffle.
Sam stopped to rest as his fingers splayed out and touched the old, worn canvas. He couldn't hear any other sound but his own labored breathing. His father must have left the room.
Reaching into the bag, Sam flinched as his fingers brushed against the cold metal of a gun barrel.
Slowly, like he was moving underwater, Sam pulled the gun out and to his chest. He blinked, trying to gain his strength again as he opened the magazine and saw the firearm loaded with iron.
Tears rolled down Sam's cheeks as he tucked the weapon close to his body and didn't move again until he heard the tell-tale growl of the Impala what seemed like hours later.
Sam listened as the motel door was opened and his father's footsteps sounded on the carpeted floor.
He heard his father grunt in surprise and his footsteps came closer.
"Goddamn piece of garbage doesn't know when to die," John muttered but Sam heard him as though he had whispered the words into his ear.
Sam remained as still as possible as his father grabbed his ankles as though he was about to drag him across the room.
Twisting at the waist, Sam propped himself up on one elbow, holding the gun up with both hands.
The sound of the pistol as the trigger was squeezed and the smell of gunpowder shocked Sam. He flinched and saw a small, round, red hole appear in John's shirt, close to his heart.
John blinked and stumbled forward, falling on Sam and pinning him to the floor. Sam, panicking, pulled himself out from under his father's body with a sob of fear and anger.
He turned to stare at his father's face, watching as John's dark eyes grew lifeless and cold.
Sam gasped in horror when a white mist flowed from his father's slightly open mouth. The mist twisted upward and disappeared into the cracked, water-stained ceiling.
Scrambling to his father, Sam reached out and shook his Dad's shoulder.
"Dad? Dad, wake up!" Sam begged.
It wasn't Dad, it wasn't Dad…. Oh God, what have I done? It wasn't Dad!
"Dad! It's gone! It's over! Wake up, please!" Sam shook his father's shoulder with more force.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Sam apologized, his voice barely a whisper as it rasped in his bruised throat.
Tears filled Sam's already red-rimmed eyes and he retreated from John's body until he was wedged between the furthest bed and the wall.
It wasn't Dad, it wasn't him… please, please forgive me! Dean, where are you! No, no… what have I done? He'll be mad at me! He'll leave me again! I killed Dad! I killed him! Oh God, what have I done?
Author's Note:
1. Chapter title comes from a Shinedown song.
2. Thanks to LeighAnnWallace, ROHOPRETENDER, eddy6401, OtakTouch, SLPikachu, AmaraRae, samgirl19, pottyandweezlbe89, cold kagome, Samstruck, SPN Mum, sarah, Helen, L.A.H.H, criminally charmed, Souless666, Eris-R-Renee, T.L. Arens, and all my Guests for reviewing.
3. Thanks to everyone who alerted/favourited.
4. One more chapter to go, guys and girls!
5. Please review! They make me smile!