Title: Welcome Home, Son
Author:
coquilleon Rating: PG-13
Summary: Sam's departure and return is seen from a different pair of eyes and the Winchester siblings struggle to keep their family together while trying to keep themselves from ripping apart at the seams.
Warnings: sightly AU
"-a scholarship. Full ride." I catch the end of his sentence over the rustle of the fast food bag as soon as I open the motel door. I pause on the threshold, seriously contemplating just setting the food down inside the doorway and backing out slowly, but I make the mistake of looking inside of the room, and immediately meet Dean's eyes where he sits at the old round wooden table. The look he gives me lets me know that if I dare back out he will come after me, and after looking away and taking a deep breath, I slip quietly through the space I created and shut the door behind me with a small click.
I ignore Sam and Dad, focusing on Dean's hands where they rest on the table, but they make my nerves feel on edge too, the way they're clasped so tightly together. Setting the bag down, I use two fingers to push it towards him. "Eat," I mumble, but I might as well have said nothing at all because he doesn't even respond and a quick glance up shows that his eyes are back on our brother and father.
I can feel the hostility coming off of both of them in waves and it makes my skin itch, but I ignore it, and them, as best as I can, and shrug off my leather jacket, balling it up to use as a pillow when I flop onto the old couch.
This argument is a long time coming.
"Dad," Sammy tries again, but my father says nothing. Sammy is bigger than him, bigger than all of us, and even though I'm the youngest by four minutes, he can sound so young sometimes. I don't know how he does it, or if he even knows that he is, but his pitch changes and suddenly your heart is breaking. "Dad, you don't have to pay for anything, and it's a great school-"
"I know what a full ride means Sam." Dad's voice is sharp and it makes my hands twitch where they rest on my stomach. I clasp them together like Dean. "And I know that Stanford is a great school. I just don't think now is the best time to-"
"When would a good time be? This is the time, this is when I'm supposed to go." Sam's voice shakes slightly, his frustration seeping into his words. He takes a deep breath. "I want a change."
"A change?" Dad's incredulous response makes me want to close my eyes. So I do. "The world doesn't change, Sam. These things aren't going to just go away because you aren't hunting them anymore. Your place is here, with me and your brother and sister-"
"I don't want to be here anymore!" None of us jump at his sudden exclamation but my eyes open up again, and my hands clench around each other. "I... don't want this to be my life for forever. I don't want to keep moving from motel to motel. I had to get this," he waves a piece of paper around that I hadn't noticed before, "delivered to Bobby's house! I didn't know where we'd be by the time they sent it." He lets his arm drop heavily. "I don't want this anymore. I want..."
He doesn't finish his sentence but he doesn't need to because Dean finally stands up, shoves himself away from the table, and finishes it for him. "You want to leave us." His words are harsh, cruel, when he spits them out, and I want to close my eyes again, but I can't this time. "Is that it, Sammy? You want to leave, go around pretending that you're normal? That you aren't a Hunter and there aren't things out there in the dark killing people? Possessing people, and destroying lives, and ruining families-"
"Exactly!" Sam rounds on Dean now, and the piece of paper makes noise as he crushes it in his fist. "That is exactly what I want to do. I don't want to spend the rest of my life fighting."
"No one does," Dad shouts. "But we have to. It's who we are-"
"It's not who I am. I'm not like you." The utter silence at his words weighs the air down, makes it too heavy. We all know Sammy isn't like us, that he's different, but it was never a bad thing. Not until he's said it aloud, and somehow made it sound like we're the ones who are wrong. That there's something wrong with me, and Dad, and Dean for wanting to hunt. For wanting to find what killed mom...
I swallow and shift my tense shoulders, and Dean's eyes are locked on me again, ablaze. "What? You aren't going to say anything?" Sam turns and Dad slides his gaze from his tense back to me, and I'm frozen, only able to literally bite my tongue. Not too hard, but just enough to remind myself that I really don't want to speak right now. Not that I know what to say.
Dean rolls his eyes, and looks as if he's on the verge of gritting out that now is not the time to stay quiet, but Sam moves again, and my eyes are drawn down to his legs, where behind lay his bags.
His packed bags.
His mind is made up.
The thought hits me like a brick to the chest.
He never intended to even stay after this conversation is over and done with. It doesn't matter what me, or Dad, or even Dean says to him, Sam knows what he's going to do, and I'll tell Dean this later when he attacks me, demanding why I didn't speak up.
Tongue between my teeth, I pull my jacket out from under my head, slip it on, and walk out the door without looking any of them in the eyes.
I walk, and walk, and walk, and it's late afternoon, nearly evening by the time I stop. I'm in a park. The kind with a huge sandbox, and a seesaw, and a merry go round, and colorful swings. I don't know why I decide to stop here, as parks depress the ever living shit out of me. It's not that hard to remember that you didn't really have a childhood when you pass a park full of kids screaming and laughing, oblivious to the terrors that await them.
Luckily for me, the park is empty, and I like to think it's because they all got called into dinner simultaneously, and not because they've been inside the whole day watching television and forgot the park is even here.
I trudge through the sand, still damp from the spring rain, and settle onto a green swing. The wind blows, as if it's giving me that first push, and I smile to myself before pushing off. I let my eyes close after the fifth pump of my legs and the fresh smelling air rushes by me, and my hair flutters light around my head like a halo, and for a few minutes I forget that I am who I am. I pretend I'm seven again, and instead of learning how to shoot and clean Dad's pearl-handle, I'm in this park, or another park, maybe one near our old house, and Mom's pushing me, while she shouts for Dad to watch Dean because he likes to cause mischief, and Sam is on the swing next to me, propelling himself, because he's always been bigger and stronger...
I know that he's here even before I begin to slow my momentum, I don't know how. I never do. I can't attribute it to the twin thing because it happens with Dean too, but by the time I stop soaring into the air, and open my eyes, Sam is standing in front of me, his hands in his pockets.
I don't know how he found me, but I don't ask, just tighten my hands on the metal links of the swing and look down at my feet. I catch sight of his bags, again, and my heart clenches, again. He moves forward and nudges my small foot with his huge one. I look away, to my right, out into the busy street and setting sun.
"I wasn't going to stay away. I just... need to do this." I don't answer or even look in his direction, but his words float into my ear and bang around inside of my skull.
If this were a book, I would be Sam. Or rather, I would be in Sam's place. The only girl in a family of men, raised to fight, longing for a way out. But this isn't a book, and we're real people, and this is who I am; I'm a Hunter. It's what I do and what I'm great at, and Sammy is the one who's dying to get away. It's Sam who wants to leave while I'm the one who is content to stay.
Not that it's any surprise, that he's itching to leave, but it still hurts. A lot. Even if none of us admit it. Hell, if anyone were to admit it, it would be Sammy and I'm sure as hell that he's not going to let that out anytime soon. Not when he's so unsure of his standing with any of us.
"Dad told me- he said that if I leave not to come back." I look at him now, through the hair the wind has blown across my eyes, and he's trying to keep it together but he's always been the sensitive one, and he's not doing such a hot job. His eyes are a little too bright and it makes my skin feel too small. I've never been good with this kind of stuff, and he seems to recall this (or maybe my expression gives me away) but he clears his throat and looks away, and when he looks back his eyes have lost their shine.
I stand, and stuff my hands into my pockets, mimicking his stance. "I could come back and see you. Dad and Dean, they-" His throat works and I look up at him and it hits me again how much bigger than me he is. People never believe us when we tell them that we're twins mainly for this reason. 6'4 and 5'4 isn't anything close to peas in a pod. "But yeah," he tries again. "I'll call you when I can and..." he trails off in the face of my silence and suddenly, like a tidal wave, I'm so angry at him. I hate him.
He'll call. He'll call me from his cushy college dorm, with his friends in the background making a whole bunch of noise while he tells me about his classes. Dean didn't go to college, and even though I graduated with top grades this year, same as Sam, I'm not going gallivanting across the nation to sit in a classroom and allow innocent people to get murdered in their beds.
But Sam doesn't step away from me in the wake of my sudden shift in mood, and I'm not surprised that he hasn't. Unlike Dean, despite my impassive expression, he can't gauge my changes in mood the second it occurs.
He's nothing like Dean.
I watch him fidget and give a small shrug almost to himself.
"I'll miss you, Sarah. I love you, you know that."
I hate him and swallow the lump in my throat. I look into his open face for a few more seconds before sliding my eyes away. "Bye, Sam," I say quietly, content to let my words get swallowed by the wind. I walk around his body, leaving him to stare at the empty swing set. My stomach gives a violent toss that can only be attributed to having no lunch. I walk away and wonder if Dean's already polished off the whole bag of food. I wonder if it will rain again here tomorrow and where we'll be next week. I don't wonder if Sam has finally let those tears fall, or if he's still standing there in front of the empty forest green swing where I've left him. I don't wonder if he will really call or if he'll make it as a doctor or a lawyer. I skip across a busy street, holding a hand up in thanks as a car slows, eager to get back to my family.
I wonder if we'll have a job tomorrow.
(
Two)