AN: Okay so I've never done one of these before (actually that's a lie but the other one doesn't count) and by these I mean an AN. So I'd like to thank EVERYONE who has actually read this fic. I appreciate all your reviews, they make me SOOOO happy. Well I hope everyone likes this next bit, I'm not sure about the beginning myself. I also don't have a clue if this is accurate in Geographical terms because I live in England and it seems we only have one type of weather here: rain. I'm also lazy enough that I didn't do research...I should probably go and sit in the naughty corner now. I only have a few more parts written out and I don't want this to get boring so if you have any ideas or suggestions feel free to add them (but I make no promises...well...only little ones..) So, enjoy!
Part Three
The weather had been debating snow for over two weeks and finally the soggy icing that was now part of Palo Alto was finally here. The temperature had reached its lowest point and Sam was chilled to the bone. His shoes had long since needed replacing and now were wet through with the brown sludge that coated the roads. He shrugged the thin layer of web-like snow off his shoulders; attempting to keep the only jacket he had remaining dry. He was ready for a rest, not for a vacation with an exotic pool or an ice cold trip to a ski resort (god knew he had had enough of the cold). The only thing Sam wanted was a week's worth of food and sleep. He was sick to the back teeth of stale bread and burnt, leftover diner grease that was labelled food. Teeth chattering and hairs raised he pulled the jacket in closer and tried putting more effort into his steps as he got closer to the motel. A shiver worked its way through his system and he let out a shaky breath.
As he walked into the parking lot he cast a gaze over the cars. Then he saw it, the Impala.
Shit, Sam thought, how could I have forgotten. Dean and his father would be inside.
As he reached toward the door it opened in what seemed like an almost comedic act. Sam trudged inside, not sure what he should be expecting but dreading it all the same.
"Dean, Sir" he nodded at each of them unsure what he should be doing. John stepped forward, ever the face of what nightmares should fear, and embraced Sam in a bearlike vice.
"Oh god Sammy, what have I done?"
When John finally let him go Sam stumbled backwards only to clasped in a similar hug from his brother.
"Ct…breee D'n!" Sam gasped.
"What was that?" Dean asked releasing him from the hug but maintaining his hold on his brother.
"I couldn't breathe."
"Oh, right."
The silence had grown from an awkward unknown to a silent void. It was bittersweet and a reminder of everything the family had lost. Sam's head was pounding even harder than before and he was surprised that he could manage (even barely) to keep a coherent thought together.
"Sammy," John's voice filled the silence as loud as black ink on paper. It sounded almost vulnerable, the complete opposite of anything Sam would have ever normally associated with his father.
"Why didn't you ever say anything? Why didn't you call? Why didn't you ask for help?"
"What?" Sam couldn't keep the incredulity from reaching his voice.
"Sir, no offence but you officially lost the right to call me that when you told me to stay gone! What do you mean didn't I ask for help? Help with what?"
"Help with the money Sammy."
It was Dean talking now; it made Sam feel as guilty as he imagined it would. The heat was rising to his cheeks and he could almost imagine how ridiculously pink his ears were.
"That works both ways, Dean. Neither of you ever bothered to ask how I was. Anyway, this is all part of growing up, this is part of the life I want, and it's just something I have to deal with!"
"We're here now. Sammy, nobody has to deal with this as part of their everyday life. Look at you, your stick thin and look like you're doing an impression of Sasquatch. If you need help then you just need to ask, we've been asking around. No person you want to be has to deal with at least four jobs. You're a smart boy, smart enough that people would pay you a fortune to work for them if you were given a chance. But you need to let us help you." John said as calmly as he could muster, his voice was laced with muted anger and bitterness.
"How dare you! You only came here so I could fix up after you go on your millionth conquest to try and kill every goddamn nightmare out there. And you come and see me trying to work towards what I've always wanted and are just looking for another reason to drag me back to that life. A life tha-"
Sam's voice broke off as he let out a gasp of pain, keeling over. It felt like someone was drawing on his insides with an knife.
"Sammy, Sammy! Talk to me man! What's the matter?"
Sam gasped again as the pounding increased. He closed his eyes as around him the world went black, fading from reality.