Running Away From Home, 2/?
Thank you for the lovely feedback, everyone! In gratitude, here's the next part, sooner than expected. There may be a short hiatus before the third as I have some big deadlines coming up. On the other hand, there may not - I'm not at freaking-out point yet :)
Title: Running Away from Home, 2/?
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: reading-is-in
Characters: Sam, Dean, John
Genre: Drama, Family, Pre-Series
Rating: PG-13 for this part (language).
Disclaimer: All recognized characters from ‘Supernatural’ are property of Eric Kripke/CW. This fan fiction is not for profit.
Summary: I always get the feeling Stanford wasn’t Sam’s first escape attempt.
For Part one, go HERE
As soon as they realized he was gone they would try to find him: Sammy was sure about that. They had the car, and it was a small town. They would find him quickly. He ought to get on a bus. Were there buses at night? Yes! He remembered: those long-journey buses that went between cities. Sammy had seen them pass by the car windows, headlights bright in the dark, with the names of the cities in white letters over driver’s window: he read them under the breath.
The bus station was behind the school, which meant that Sammy was going the wrong way. He turned around and began to retrace the route he had taken each morning for the past month, anguished all over again at the thought he would never be the fireman now. He had broken the hat. Why had he broken it? The sky here was very black with a big moon, but the streetlights threw bright pools of yellow into the road. All of the cars were parked still and everyone’s curtains were drawn. Except for the night-time summer insects, everything was quiet. Sammy felt suddenly very small and maybe a little bit frightened. He scowled at himself and quickened his pace.
How much money did it cost to go on the bus? Dean always handled the money that Dad left them with. Sam supposed he could explain to the bus driver that he was running away, because his family were cruel to him, and that when they got to the next town he was going to get a job like delivering newspapers and then he could pay the driver back. Dean had delivered newspapers when they lived in Mississippi and had so much money they went to the arcade. Mississippi was so hot. But that was when he’d been sick and Dean stopped delivering the papers to take care of him. A sharp feeling panged in his stomach then, because when you ran away, if you got sick there was nobody to take care of you. Sammy blinked tipped his head back so the tears couldn’t come out.
The bus station was dark and closed up. Sammy stopped abruptly. There were three buses, still and dark in the parking bays, but the ticket window was closed. What did he do now? Suddenly there was a smashing sound. He jumped and sucked in his breath. Moonlight caught on the slivers of green glass. There were people hunched under the shelter. They had broken a bottle - an alcohol bottle - Sammy knew by the smell. He couldn’t see how many there were - but suddenly a man lurched up - moonlight gleamed on his teeth and his eyeballs, and he looked right at Sammy:
“Hey! Kid!”
Sammy started to back away.
“Hey! What the fuck?!” They were laughing. The man started swaying towards him. Sammy turned and ran. He could hear the man still laughing - and then a thud - another smash, and he didn’t look back but dashed straight into the road where suddenly headlights engulfed him. A horn blared - and a car screeched to a halt, nearly on him - Sam exchanged startled looks with the lady driving, her hand went to her mouth - but he kept running, heart racing, trying to suck enough from the hot night. He ran till he could see the rail of the playground, threw himself on the gate, scrabbled over clutching his bag and tearing his knee on the top and his hands when he half-fell over the other side. Crying in earnest, he bolted for the wooden ladder and climbed into the tree-house (Sam didn’t need the ladder really, but Mrs. Jenkins said not to climb the tree). He curled himself up in the corner. After he stopped crying, he ate the green Skittles, but before he could start to pick out the red ones he fell asleep.
• * *
“…tell Jack that we found him. Well hello Sam. I’m Officer Park.”
Sam blinked at the lady who’d woken him.
“Your daddy’s going to be very happy to see you. So is your brother.”
The Skittles packet was still smushed in his left hand. Some of the colors had leaked whilst he slept, dying his fingers rainbow. His palms burned where the sugar had got in the grazes. The woman was wearing a uniform and talking into walkie-talkie.
“You’re the police,” he whispered. His heart sank.
“That’s right,” said the lady.
“Are you going to take me to jail now?”
“Definitely not. I’m going to take you back to your family.”
Outside, it was light: early morning. Sam was cold, but not freezing cold - not like he’d been in Colorado. Remembering the motel there, Sam started crying.
“I want my brotherrr…” he said. “But I don’t want to see my dad. He’s going to kill me.”
“I don’t think so. You’ll certainly be in some trouble, young man, but your dad is very worried about you and mostly just wants you home.”
Sammy thought about telling her he didn’t have a home. But he bit his tongue. Dean said if the police knew they didn’t go to one school they’d be separated, and right then, more than anything, more than running away, Sam wanted Dean, who would do cotton-wool and band-aids on his hands and knees, maybe even the dinosaur ones if they had them. The lady policeman took him in her car and drove him back to the station. Sammy was ready for Dad to yell, and he’d stopped feeling angry. Mostly he felt very tired. He tried thinking about the play, to make himself ready to yell back. But first Dad hugged him said,
“Thank God.”
Sammy squirmed in the embrace. Dad’s jacket smelled like cigarettes. He didn’t know if he liked it.
“Dean,” he said when they reunited: “I cut my hands.”
“It’s okay,” Dean said, “Shh, Sammy - just be quiet, okay?” Dean was watching Dad nervously. And that made Sammy nervous. Dad was being very - weird. Sammy almost wished he would shout. Dean bundled Sam into the backseat of the Impala. Sam sniffed a couple of times but didn’t say anything until he realized they weren’t heading in the direction of the apartment.
“Aren’t we going back to the house?”
Dad didn’t answer. Sam stretched to look on the front seat - Dad and Dean’s backpacks were full and zipped up. He sat down again, biting his lip.
They left town. Dean cleaned up Sammy’s cuts in a service station bathroom.
“Why isn’t Dad yelling?” Sammy asked.
“Sam…” said Dean. “You - just, you can’t do that, okay? You can’t - we had to tell the police! We can’t tell the police things, Sammy, we just - just never do that, please?”
“You treat me like a baby.” Anger flared again. “You think I don’t know. We move around, we can’t stay in one place, and you don’t tell me what it’s about.”
“We’re just trying to keep you safe.”
“Then tell me.”
“I can’t. But you have to promise, okay? You love me, right?”
“Yes.”
“And you want us to stay together? Always?” Dean sounded like he might cry. Dean never cried, so it made Sammy start to cry again.
“Y-yes. I’m sorry I ran away.”
“Then you have to be good and just do what I tell you to.”
“Okay,” he meant it: “I’m sorry.”
Dad never did yell. But he didn’t talk to Sammy all that day until bedtime. Then after Dean had tucked him in and put the light out Dad came and stood in the doorway. Sam looked up, squinting. Dad was silhouetted weirdly in the light from the motel living room. For a long moment Dad just looked at him. Sammy looked back. Then Dad said,
“Sometimes I just don’t know what to do with you.”
Sammy didn’t run away again, until he was eleven.
Part Three.
Title: Running Away from Home, 2/?
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: reading-is-in
Characters: Sam, Dean, John
Genre: Drama, Family, Pre-Series
Rating: PG-13 for this part (language).
Disclaimer: All recognized characters from ‘Supernatural’ are property of Eric Kripke/CW. This fan fiction is not for profit.
Summary: I always get the feeling Stanford wasn’t Sam’s first escape attempt.
For Part one, go HERE
As soon as they realized he was gone they would try to find him: Sammy was sure about that. They had the car, and it was a small town. They would find him quickly. He ought to get on a bus. Were there buses at night? Yes! He remembered: those long-journey buses that went between cities. Sammy had seen them pass by the car windows, headlights bright in the dark, with the names of the cities in white letters over driver’s window: he read them under the breath.
The bus station was behind the school, which meant that Sammy was going the wrong way. He turned around and began to retrace the route he had taken each morning for the past month, anguished all over again at the thought he would never be the fireman now. He had broken the hat. Why had he broken it? The sky here was very black with a big moon, but the streetlights threw bright pools of yellow into the road. All of the cars were parked still and everyone’s curtains were drawn. Except for the night-time summer insects, everything was quiet. Sammy felt suddenly very small and maybe a little bit frightened. He scowled at himself and quickened his pace.
How much money did it cost to go on the bus? Dean always handled the money that Dad left them with. Sam supposed he could explain to the bus driver that he was running away, because his family were cruel to him, and that when they got to the next town he was going to get a job like delivering newspapers and then he could pay the driver back. Dean had delivered newspapers when they lived in Mississippi and had so much money they went to the arcade. Mississippi was so hot. But that was when he’d been sick and Dean stopped delivering the papers to take care of him. A sharp feeling panged in his stomach then, because when you ran away, if you got sick there was nobody to take care of you. Sammy blinked tipped his head back so the tears couldn’t come out.
The bus station was dark and closed up. Sammy stopped abruptly. There were three buses, still and dark in the parking bays, but the ticket window was closed. What did he do now? Suddenly there was a smashing sound. He jumped and sucked in his breath. Moonlight caught on the slivers of green glass. There were people hunched under the shelter. They had broken a bottle - an alcohol bottle - Sammy knew by the smell. He couldn’t see how many there were - but suddenly a man lurched up - moonlight gleamed on his teeth and his eyeballs, and he looked right at Sammy:
“Hey! Kid!”
Sammy started to back away.
“Hey! What the fuck?!” They were laughing. The man started swaying towards him. Sammy turned and ran. He could hear the man still laughing - and then a thud - another smash, and he didn’t look back but dashed straight into the road where suddenly headlights engulfed him. A horn blared - and a car screeched to a halt, nearly on him - Sam exchanged startled looks with the lady driving, her hand went to her mouth - but he kept running, heart racing, trying to suck enough from the hot night. He ran till he could see the rail of the playground, threw himself on the gate, scrabbled over clutching his bag and tearing his knee on the top and his hands when he half-fell over the other side. Crying in earnest, he bolted for the wooden ladder and climbed into the tree-house (Sam didn’t need the ladder really, but Mrs. Jenkins said not to climb the tree). He curled himself up in the corner. After he stopped crying, he ate the green Skittles, but before he could start to pick out the red ones he fell asleep.
• * *
“…tell Jack that we found him. Well hello Sam. I’m Officer Park.”
Sam blinked at the lady who’d woken him.
“Your daddy’s going to be very happy to see you. So is your brother.”
The Skittles packet was still smushed in his left hand. Some of the colors had leaked whilst he slept, dying his fingers rainbow. His palms burned where the sugar had got in the grazes. The woman was wearing a uniform and talking into walkie-talkie.
“You’re the police,” he whispered. His heart sank.
“That’s right,” said the lady.
“Are you going to take me to jail now?”
“Definitely not. I’m going to take you back to your family.”
Outside, it was light: early morning. Sam was cold, but not freezing cold - not like he’d been in Colorado. Remembering the motel there, Sam started crying.
“I want my brotherrr…” he said. “But I don’t want to see my dad. He’s going to kill me.”
“I don’t think so. You’ll certainly be in some trouble, young man, but your dad is very worried about you and mostly just wants you home.”
Sammy thought about telling her he didn’t have a home. But he bit his tongue. Dean said if the police knew they didn’t go to one school they’d be separated, and right then, more than anything, more than running away, Sam wanted Dean, who would do cotton-wool and band-aids on his hands and knees, maybe even the dinosaur ones if they had them. The lady policeman took him in her car and drove him back to the station. Sammy was ready for Dad to yell, and he’d stopped feeling angry. Mostly he felt very tired. He tried thinking about the play, to make himself ready to yell back. But first Dad hugged him said,
“Thank God.”
Sammy squirmed in the embrace. Dad’s jacket smelled like cigarettes. He didn’t know if he liked it.
“Dean,” he said when they reunited: “I cut my hands.”
“It’s okay,” Dean said, “Shh, Sammy - just be quiet, okay?” Dean was watching Dad nervously. And that made Sammy nervous. Dad was being very - weird. Sammy almost wished he would shout. Dean bundled Sam into the backseat of the Impala. Sam sniffed a couple of times but didn’t say anything until he realized they weren’t heading in the direction of the apartment.
“Aren’t we going back to the house?”
Dad didn’t answer. Sam stretched to look on the front seat - Dad and Dean’s backpacks were full and zipped up. He sat down again, biting his lip.
They left town. Dean cleaned up Sammy’s cuts in a service station bathroom.
“Why isn’t Dad yelling?” Sammy asked.
“Sam…” said Dean. “You - just, you can’t do that, okay? You can’t - we had to tell the police! We can’t tell the police things, Sammy, we just - just never do that, please?”
“You treat me like a baby.” Anger flared again. “You think I don’t know. We move around, we can’t stay in one place, and you don’t tell me what it’s about.”
“We’re just trying to keep you safe.”
“Then tell me.”
“I can’t. But you have to promise, okay? You love me, right?”
“Yes.”
“And you want us to stay together? Always?” Dean sounded like he might cry. Dean never cried, so it made Sammy start to cry again.
“Y-yes. I’m sorry I ran away.”
“Then you have to be good and just do what I tell you to.”
“Okay,” he meant it: “I’m sorry.”
Dad never did yell. But he didn’t talk to Sammy all that day until bedtime. Then after Dean had tucked him in and put the light out Dad came and stood in the doorway. Sam looked up, squinting. Dad was silhouetted weirdly in the light from the motel living room. For a long moment Dad just looked at him. Sammy looked back. Then Dad said,
“Sometimes I just don’t know what to do with you.”
Sammy didn’t run away again, until he was eleven.
Part Three.