Alone
Alone
“You remember what I told you?”
Dean sighed as he nodded, biting his tongue to keep from saying the things he really wanted to say. Something must have showed in his eyes because the full weight of his father’s personality was boring into him then.
“Yes, Sir. Don’t touch anything unless Bobby says I can. Don’t take anything apart unless Bobby says I can. Don’t get lost in the junkyard, and listen to Bobby.”
His father nodded and without another word he was out the door to the front porch where Bobby was waiting for him. Dean didn’t bother sticking around. Dad didn’t want him on the hunt and Dean knew well enough when to leave it alone. At least he was at Bobby’s and not left waiting in some stinky motel room again. He really hated that, nothing to do but watch television and hope no one noticed him getting take out by himself every night. Even though he’d gone to a different place for every meal it hadn’t been enough last time. Nosy receptionist had called the cops and Dean had high tailed it out the bathroom window and called his Dad to pick him up. That’d been a month ago and his Dad seemed less willing to leave him in a motel again, though apparently leaving him with Bobby was just fine.
He was twelve years old, damn it! He could help. He already did a lot of research for his father and he could shoot a gun as well as most hunters. Well, smaller caliber guns without as much kick. He was still fighting his size on that one but he was getting taller and he was working out so soon he’d been able to handle even the big guns.
He let out a deep breath and pushed through the screen door at the back. He kicked a couple pieces of loose gravel and looked out around the junkyard. He was alone again. His heart ached and this time he didn’t push it aside. He let himself wonder what it would be like to have Sam there with him, to have his eight year old brother following him around the way he had two years before.
He jogged through the junkyard and found an old clunker to crawl up in and curled up in the front seat. If he did it right, he could almost remember what it felt like, Sam pressed against his back, pulling at the curls at the back of his neck. He ran his hand over the back of his head, startled to find the short bristles even though it’d been that short for a while … since the fire.
The fire had changed everything in Dean’s life. His mother and brother dead, his father a grieving mess, determined to find the demon that had destroyed his family. He’d become harder, strict and difficult to be around. Dean tried his best to be what his Dad needed; he’d taken to the hunt so that he’d be ready the day he needed him, he’d learned to keep a low profile where they lived, and learned to adjust to the string of motels that were his life instead of the home he’d once known. The only thing he’d fought about was his hair. He knew it was weird, but Sam had always curled up behind him when nightmares came to him or he couldn’t fall asleep and he’d pulled Dean’s hair tight into his fists. When he’d settle down enough, his fingers would relax and then Sam would nuzzle into his neck and pull at a curl with his tongue, sucking it into his mouth until he was fast asleep. Whenever Mom or Dad came looking, they found them still like that. He hated cutting his hair but it was one argument he couldn’t win against his father.
He heard the soft whimper and sighed, pushing away thoughts of his dead brother and opened the door of the car. Bobby had a new pup in the yard. Said he needed a good guard dog. Dean jumped out of the car and knelt down scratching the dog behind his ears.
“You’re not Sam,” Dean said softly to the pup, “but at least I’m not alone.”
He heard Bobby calling his name then and headed back up to the house. It wasn’t the same as helping his dad on a hunt, but Bobby always had a lot of things going on and he let Dean help out. He learned the best things when he was at Bobby’s though he always kept that a secret from his dad. As much as Dean hated being left behind, he actually liked being at Bobby’s.
He called the pup to him and they were jogging back to the house together, ready to see what sort of creature Bobby needed help with this time.
**
“No,” Sam demanded as he stomped his foot, staring up at his mother. He knew he shouldn’t. He was older than that, knew better than that. He didn’t care though. He didn’t care that he was supposed to be the big boy now. He didn’t want her to go and she was leaving … again.
“Mary,” the Pastor’s voice was the same soothing voice he always used when someone was upset but his mother turned angry eyes on him and he held his hands up. “This is the third time you’ve left him in the last two months. It’s no wonder that he’s reacting to you being gone again.”
Sam saw the look in her eyes though; the wild look she got sometimes when she thought Sam was being too stubborn. He tried not to be, he did. She said Dean never used to talk back and Sam tried really hard to be more like his lost brother. It was hard though.
His mother looked back at him and got on her knees, opening her arms to him. He didn’t feel like taking the offering but she didn’t hold him like she used to and he missed it. It just meant she was leaving though. It just meant another bribe.
“Be good for Pastor Jim, Sammy,” she whispered into his ear. “Be good and when I get back we’ll go to the bookstore you love so much. You can pick out anything you want baby, just let Mommy take this one more trip.”
He just nodded into her hair, taking a deep breath and blinking back the tears when it didn’t smell right.
Nothing did since the fire.
When he pulled away, she turned back to Pastor Jim and Sam knew he was already out of her mind. He walked through the church to the back door. Pastor Jim’s house was just out back and he let himself in, heading up to the room that was becoming his. No one said anything but he spent a lot of time there. He opened the window so he could hear better, not wanting anyone to sneak up on him.
He crawled into the bed and pulled out the bag he had under the pillow. He normally kept it hidden in his backpack but he’d almost lost it in the last motel so he decided to leave it at Pastor Jim’s. It meant he couldn’t have it all the time but he could deal with that as long as it was safe. In his eight years he’d never had anything more precious. It was the only thing that made him feel less alone.
He pulled the bag open and out came the small blanket that he’d been hiding for as long as he could remember. When he was little, Dean left it under his pillow so he wouldn’t get scared. If Dean left his blanket, after all, it meant he had to come back to get it. When they got older Dean always folded it over him when he crawled into bed with Sam, right before Sam would snuggle up close and find his favorite curls.
He held it close to his face, breathing in the scent of his brother. He pulled a piece of his hair into his mouth - grown long enough just for that purpose though his mother hated it - but it wasn’t the same. He felt the sob rising and didn’t try to stop it. Pastor Jim would be with his mom a while longer and then he’d take his time, giving Sam his space before coming up to check up on him. It was the routine of his life.
He let Dean’s blanket absorb his tears, but the day’s travel along with his mother’s leaving left him emotionally drained. He felt his eyes get droopy and sucked harder on his hair, letting the smell of his dead brother help him slip off to sleep.
“You remember what I told you?”
Dean sighed as he nodded, biting his tongue to keep from saying the things he really wanted to say. Something must have showed in his eyes because the full weight of his father’s personality was boring into him then.
“Yes, Sir. Don’t touch anything unless Bobby says I can. Don’t take anything apart unless Bobby says I can. Don’t get lost in the junkyard, and listen to Bobby.”
His father nodded and without another word he was out the door to the front porch where Bobby was waiting for him. Dean didn’t bother sticking around. Dad didn’t want him on the hunt and Dean knew well enough when to leave it alone. At least he was at Bobby’s and not left waiting in some stinky motel room again. He really hated that, nothing to do but watch television and hope no one noticed him getting take out by himself every night. Even though he’d gone to a different place for every meal it hadn’t been enough last time. Nosy receptionist had called the cops and Dean had high tailed it out the bathroom window and called his Dad to pick him up. That’d been a month ago and his Dad seemed less willing to leave him in a motel again, though apparently leaving him with Bobby was just fine.
He was twelve years old, damn it! He could help. He already did a lot of research for his father and he could shoot a gun as well as most hunters. Well, smaller caliber guns without as much kick. He was still fighting his size on that one but he was getting taller and he was working out so soon he’d been able to handle even the big guns.
He let out a deep breath and pushed through the screen door at the back. He kicked a couple pieces of loose gravel and looked out around the junkyard. He was alone again. His heart ached and this time he didn’t push it aside. He let himself wonder what it would be like to have Sam there with him, to have his eight year old brother following him around the way he had two years before.
He jogged through the junkyard and found an old clunker to crawl up in and curled up in the front seat. If he did it right, he could almost remember what it felt like, Sam pressed against his back, pulling at the curls at the back of his neck. He ran his hand over the back of his head, startled to find the short bristles even though it’d been that short for a while … since the fire.
The fire had changed everything in Dean’s life. His mother and brother dead, his father a grieving mess, determined to find the demon that had destroyed his family. He’d become harder, strict and difficult to be around. Dean tried his best to be what his Dad needed; he’d taken to the hunt so that he’d be ready the day he needed him, he’d learned to keep a low profile where they lived, and learned to adjust to the string of motels that were his life instead of the home he’d once known. The only thing he’d fought about was his hair. He knew it was weird, but Sam had always curled up behind him when nightmares came to him or he couldn’t fall asleep and he’d pulled Dean’s hair tight into his fists. When he’d settle down enough, his fingers would relax and then Sam would nuzzle into his neck and pull at a curl with his tongue, sucking it into his mouth until he was fast asleep. Whenever Mom or Dad came looking, they found them still like that. He hated cutting his hair but it was one argument he couldn’t win against his father.
He heard the soft whimper and sighed, pushing away thoughts of his dead brother and opened the door of the car. Bobby had a new pup in the yard. Said he needed a good guard dog. Dean jumped out of the car and knelt down scratching the dog behind his ears.
“You’re not Sam,” Dean said softly to the pup, “but at least I’m not alone.”
He heard Bobby calling his name then and headed back up to the house. It wasn’t the same as helping his dad on a hunt, but Bobby always had a lot of things going on and he let Dean help out. He learned the best things when he was at Bobby’s though he always kept that a secret from his dad. As much as Dean hated being left behind, he actually liked being at Bobby’s.
He called the pup to him and they were jogging back to the house together, ready to see what sort of creature Bobby needed help with this time.
**
“No,” Sam demanded as he stomped his foot, staring up at his mother. He knew he shouldn’t. He was older than that, knew better than that. He didn’t care though. He didn’t care that he was supposed to be the big boy now. He didn’t want her to go and she was leaving … again.
“Mary,” the Pastor’s voice was the same soothing voice he always used when someone was upset but his mother turned angry eyes on him and he held his hands up. “This is the third time you’ve left him in the last two months. It’s no wonder that he’s reacting to you being gone again.”
Sam saw the look in her eyes though; the wild look she got sometimes when she thought Sam was being too stubborn. He tried not to be, he did. She said Dean never used to talk back and Sam tried really hard to be more like his lost brother. It was hard though.
His mother looked back at him and got on her knees, opening her arms to him. He didn’t feel like taking the offering but she didn’t hold him like she used to and he missed it. It just meant she was leaving though. It just meant another bribe.
“Be good for Pastor Jim, Sammy,” she whispered into his ear. “Be good and when I get back we’ll go to the bookstore you love so much. You can pick out anything you want baby, just let Mommy take this one more trip.”
He just nodded into her hair, taking a deep breath and blinking back the tears when it didn’t smell right.
Nothing did since the fire.
When he pulled away, she turned back to Pastor Jim and Sam knew he was already out of her mind. He walked through the church to the back door. Pastor Jim’s house was just out back and he let himself in, heading up to the room that was becoming his. No one said anything but he spent a lot of time there. He opened the window so he could hear better, not wanting anyone to sneak up on him.
He crawled into the bed and pulled out the bag he had under the pillow. He normally kept it hidden in his backpack but he’d almost lost it in the last motel so he decided to leave it at Pastor Jim’s. It meant he couldn’t have it all the time but he could deal with that as long as it was safe. In his eight years he’d never had anything more precious. It was the only thing that made him feel less alone.
He pulled the bag open and out came the small blanket that he’d been hiding for as long as he could remember. When he was little, Dean left it under his pillow so he wouldn’t get scared. If Dean left his blanket, after all, it meant he had to come back to get it. When they got older Dean always folded it over him when he crawled into bed with Sam, right before Sam would snuggle up close and find his favorite curls.
He held it close to his face, breathing in the scent of his brother. He pulled a piece of his hair into his mouth - grown long enough just for that purpose though his mother hated it - but it wasn’t the same. He felt the sob rising and didn’t try to stop it. Pastor Jim would be with his mom a while longer and then he’d take his time, giving Sam his space before coming up to check up on him. It was the routine of his life.
He let Dean’s blanket absorb his tears, but the day’s travel along with his mother’s leaving left him emotionally drained. He felt his eyes get droopy and sucked harder on his hair, letting the smell of his dead brother help him slip off to sleep.