Author's Note: I'm so sorry for the long delay! I took a bit of a vacation and just relaxed for a bit. Anyways, I'm back now! Please look forward to daily updates once again. Tonight's prompt is from penelopegraceful who asked for, "a teenchester story, maybe Sam is around 13, and he is a bit depressed because John and Dean left him at a motel while they went on a hunt and while they are away Sam gets hurt but tries to deal with it himself. Eventually John and Dean realize that Sam is hurt and then feel guilty." Per your request, Sam here is 13 and Dean is 17. Please enjoy!

"Tell me that it's nobody's fault

Nobody's fault

But my own."

—Beck, "Nobody's Fault But My Own"

He's used to being alone.

Now that he's 13, he's been left alone while his father and Dean have gone on countless hunts. This week, he's holed up in the small, dilapidated house that they've rented for the month while both John and Dean are off chasing down a Skinwalker. He's been alone countless times before this, but that doesn't make the fear and loneliness go away. There's always the possibility that a hunt will go wrong and either his father or Dean could get hurt or worse. Sometimes, hunts get delayed by days and Sam never knows for sure whether his family is alive or not. It's this fear that claws at the edges of his sanity and if not for all the times that his family has walked through the door alive and well, it would probably destroy him.

"The number you are trying to reach is currently out of service—" He slams the phone down and curses under his breath. It's been two days since Dean last checked in and one day longer than the hunt was supposed to take. They're late and it scares the shit out of Sam. Maybe his brother and father are lying in a ditch somewhere, bleeding out without anyone to help them—

"No." Sam hisses, forcing the panic to subside. Dean and his father have been late before. Hunting isn't a cut and dry business—they're can be problems that take days to resolve. He nods, letting logic and past experience calm him. Dean and his father will be fine. They're always fine in the end. Sam just needs something to distract him for a bit.

It's then that he decides to head to the library.

The library is a good 20 minute walk away from their current house and though it's freezing outside, Sam welcomes the cold. It helps numb him to the fear that is still attempting to consume him. His body involuntarily shivers, but he can't feel it. The cold is nice and it gives him something else to focus on. When he finally steps into the library, his lips are nearly blue, but his mind his clear.

"Oh, goodness!" Mrs. Malone exclaims from her desk. The matronly woman bustles over to him, fiddling with his jacket and brushing his hair out of his eyes. She's in her mid-50's, but has kind eyes that sparkle whenever she's enjoying a good book. "Sam, you're positively frozen!" She grins at him and he shoots her a smile back. Since Dean and John left two weeks ago, Sam's been spending plenty of time at the library, often staying till closing at 6pm. In the course of his time there, he's become well acquainted with Mrs. Malone.

"I'm f-fine." He tells her, teeth chattering.

"Oh, dear," She sighs. "Why don't I get you a cup of tea?" She disappears into the backroom and Sam settles at one of the grand tables, instantly relaxing. This is his sanctuary—this has always been his place of refuge. Lost in the pages of a good book, Sam frees himself from whatever fear or worry that's been plaguing him. It's his escape from a life that he wants no part in.

He doesn't want to be a hunter.

"Here you are." She places the steaming mug down and grins at him.

"Thank you." He takes a slow sip of the warm liquid and feels the shivers dissipate. Mrs. Malone nods her head before returning to her desk. There are only a few people in the library today, which doesn't bother Sam. He pulls out a copy of a Sherlock Holmes novel and lets himself be sucked into that world.

Three days.

A hunt has never gone on this much longer than originally planned and Sam is starting to think that it's time to call Bobby or Pastor Jim. He still clings to hope though—maybe they'll walk through the door right now, maybe they're just lost, maybe the Impala broke down; though he admits the last one is far fetched—and it is this hope that makes him hang up before he even completes the call. Dean and John are fine.

They have to be fine.

Sam decides he needs to get his mind off of things—he cleans the house, organizes his duffel, checks the salt lines—and it's as he's cleaning his knife, that it happens. He does the one thing he was never supposed to do—get distracted. The blade cuts cleanly through his palm and with a hiss, Sam glances down to see the deep cut. Blood drips down onto the floor, some of it landing on the knife that had clattered to the floor. It's a deep cut—one that clearly requires stiches—but Sam has never done such a thing before. He dashes for a cloth and applies pressure on the wound, willing for the blood flow to stop and then panicking slightly when it doesn't.

He hates being alone.

He wishes Dean were here. Dean always knew what to do. He wants his father here too. Sure, John would lecture him for being careless, but John would also put in the stiches so quick that Sam would barely notice they were going in.

Instead, he's alone.

And if Dean and John didn't come back—

"No." He shakes his head, dispelling the horrible thought from his head before it takes hold. He needs to get this wound treated. He needs to focus on that.

Deal with this first and then the other.

"Oh, Sam!" Mrs. Malone exclaims as he runs into the library, bloody rag still pressed to his hand. "What happened?" He lies and manages to pull it off partly because of the tears welling in his eyes and the panic that he's feeling. He explains that his family is out of time and he doesn't know what to do. The kindly librarian simply puts a hand on her shoulder, grabs her car keys and closes the library early. "Hospital is a five minute drive. Let's go."

"Thank you." He manages to say, but she brushes it off with a small smile.

"Come on, honey."

With a reassuring hand on his back, she leads him to her car.

In the end, he gets his hand stitched up and a sharp order from both the doctor and Mrs. Malone to stay away from sharp objects and rest. It's hard to rest; however, when you're constantly wondering if you're an orphan because now it's day four and Sam still hasn't heard from either his brother or his father. In hunting, the adage "no news is good news" doesn't apply. No news means you're dead and lying in a ditch somewhere. He needs to call Bobby or Pastor Jim, he knows, but if he does so, Sam will be admitting that his brother and his father are in a bad situation.

The phone rings, breaking his silent reverie and instantly Sam has the receiver in hand.

"Hello?" He holds his breath as he waits, wishing for his brother to be on the other line.

"Sammy." Dean greets, exhaustion lacing his tone.

"Dean," Sam breathes, feeling some of the tension drain from his body. "Are you okay? Is Dad—?"

"We're fine," His older brother interjects quickly. "It just took a lot longer to get the stupid son of a bitch. We're on our way now, okay? Our ETA is about 10 hours."

"Good." The littlest Winchester replies, just so relieved to hear his brother—alive—on the line.

"You okay, Sammy?" There it was—the protective streak that ran a mile wide when it came to his brother. Dean's need to know everything that happened to Sam sometimes got annoying, but after times of intense stress, it could also be downright comforting.

"I'm fine, Dean."

He'll explain what happened to him once Dean returned.

"See you tomorrow."

"Bye, Dean."

And he hangs up, finally feeling like he can breathe for the first time in four days.

His father and Dean stumble in the next morning and Sam feels like a huge weight has been lifted off his shoulders. He throws his arms around Dean, not caring if he'll be called a girl for this kind of interaction and feels pleased when his older brother returns the hug. His father ruffles his hair affectionately before collapsing onto his bed, falling asleep as soon as his face hits the pillow.

"You're not tired?" Sam questions as Dean raids their pathetic excuse of a fridge.

"Nah," His older brother replies. "Slept in the car."

"I'm glad you're back." He whispers, a careful admission and Dean shuts the fridge before spinning around to stare at his little brother with a trained eye.

"Sammy?"

"It's nothing."

"It's not nothing." Dean retorts, pulling up a chair to sit at the counter next to Sam.

"I just . . . you guys were four days late and I thought . . ." His voice trails off and he sees the realization spark in Dean's eyes. His brother, in a gesture so unlike the strictly manly persona he put forth, grabbed Sam's hand within his own and squeezed.

Causing Sam to wince as pressure was applied on his stiches.

"What?"

"Dean, wait—" But it's too late. His brother is already turning over his hand and is staring at the neat line of stiches.

"What the hell happened?" His older brother growls, eyes pooling with concern though his tone is murderous; he's ready to kill whoever caused this.

"I cut myself." Sam replies quickly.

"You what?"

"What is with all the noise?" John calls, as he leans against the kitchen doorway that connects the room to the hall. "Dean?"

"Sam got stiches." Dean reports and instantly his father's demeanor shifts from exhausted to concerned.

"Sam?" John questions.

"I cut myself," Sam repeats. "I was cleaning stuff while you guys were . . . gone." He glances away, but he can practically feel the shift in the room as comprehension dawned in the minds of the two older Winchester men.

"Sammy." His father is kneeling now, making eye contact with him.

"I'm sorry—"

"Sam, look at me." The youngest Winchester does so and is rewarded by his father's soft smile.

"Yeah?" He mumbles.

"I'm sorry that we took so long." It's an apology—a rare thing coming from John Winchester—but it makes Sam grin.

"I am too." Dean adds quietly.

There are no promises for change in the future and Sam understands that he'll be left alone again, until he's old enough to come on more difficult hunts. Still, there's something about seeing the guilt in his father's eyes that gives him hope. Maybe next time, things will be better.

"Dean?" His older brother stiffens.

"Yeah, Dad?"

"Go to the store and get us some hot chocolate." Dean appears shocked by this order but nods his head before grabbing the keys and darting out to the Impala.

In the future, Sam would look back on this moment with a mix of incredulity and anger. Incredulous because his father had actually smiled and anger because John had thought that bribing him with sweets could solve serious problems. Still, for that one moment in Sam Winchester's life, everything was perfect. He had been a normal kid who was going to have hot chocolate with his family.

For that one moment, Sam Winchester had everything he could've ever wanted.

Author's Note: Okay, there you go! Again, I'm so sorry that it took me so long to update. Daily updates will be coming until all the prompts are finally done. Okay, please review if you have a second!