Chapter Text
Sam’s walking fast, long legs eating up the distance. His breath comes in steamy clouds. He is keeping his pace just this side of a trot for three reasons.
First, he’s late. He hung out behind the gym and smoked a couple of cigarettes with Jake, Cody and Hannah, the girl with a ring in her nose. He needs to get back before this brother and wash that scent off or there will be a reckoning.
Second, he needs to get home before his brother, period. That’s the deal. Otherwise he will be picked up outside school every day and that’s just not cool.
Third, he’s cold. Whatever he ate for lunch is long since burned off and his jacket’s too thin. December is cold as hell, and he’s freezing his ass off. Sneakers have holes in them and three layers just isn’t cutting it with Montana’s December winds.
The house they’re living in is small and run down but kept incredibly neat and well-tended. Military discipline reigns. No pictures on the walls. All personal possessions stowed away.
As soon as Sam slams through the door he does the routine check to see that the house is empty and undisturbed. It takes about three minutes for him to realize the hot water heater is on the blink again and that means there’s no chance of a shower. He’s just not that much of a masochist. And he really needed a shower. Long, slow and hot. A bath would have been even better, because right now he’s chilled to the bone and his joints ache.
Instead he washes up as best he can, brushes his teeth twice in water so cold it makes the mint of the toothpaste sting and then changes his shirts. The three layers he puts on are none too clean, but at least there’s no trace of smoke on them.
Dad’s off somewhere for a long hunt and it’s just him and Dean, but it doesn’t really matter. Dad berates, Dean scolds. They both punish. Usually it’s just more training or something, but Sam is 16 and just can’t take it right now. He’s got enough to deal with, aching joints aside.
School’s not too bad. It’s less competitive than the last place, so Sam’s grades are stellar and he gets most of his homework done at school. He’s at the head of every class it seems. If you’re good at all that you’re a mathlete. If you’re good at sports, you’re a jock. Sam’s just good at everything, so he’s an outcast anyway – hence the smoking with Cody, Jake and Hannah.
Cody’s an army brat, he knows about moving around, Jake’s ridiculously intelligent, giving Sam a good run for his money and Hannah’s just different. She took the cigarette she’d just lit from her lips and stuck it between Sam’s and that in itself was enough to make him need a little alone time in the shower. She’s pretty in an off-hand sort of way.
Sam’s not a complete loser, he’s got the kinds of friends he likes for a couple of months stay. They’re interesting and odd and Sam doesn’t need to date the head cheerleader and fit in at every damned school, thank you. He’s given that up as a lost cause already.
Dean’s working as some kind of ranch hand, which makes him come through the door dirty, tired, sore and starving. Sometimes they just sit in the worn down old sofa that came with the house and eat sandwiches with ham and mustard and watch crap-TV with bad reception, sometimes they’ll cook. Sam’s not the most domestic kid, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to cook spaghetti.
He breathes into his cupped hand and can’t find any evidence on his breath so he feels pretty safe for now.
Going through the cupboards Sam realizes they’re running low on just about everything. He grabs a slice of bread and munches on it while looking for something to have with the pasta. There are canned tomatoes, some onions and carrots in the fridge and that’s about it. He gets it all together and starts making sauce for the pasta.
About ten minutes later Dean rumbles into the yard and there’s always that same mix of good and bad lurching in Sam. He can already feel the annoyance creeping into his mind. The door bangs open.
-Hey?!
-Hey, Dean. In the kitchen.
Dean’s with him in no time, it’s a tiny house after all.
-Water heater’s out again, Sam says without looking up.
-Son of a bitch. I really wanted a shower.
Sam shrugs.
-What’s for dinner?
-Spaghetti. We’re pretty much out of everything else.
There’s a silence where the expletive should be, so now Sam looks up. Dean's in heavy work clothes, but just like Sam’s none of it’s enough for Montana. He looks wrung out. Even though the house is pretty cold Dean’s flushing from the relative warmth. He looks okay though. Good.
-I’m gonna wash up.
-Okay. Dinner in fifteen.
Dean nods once and walks off towards the bedroom they share. There’s a lot to worry about, lack of food and hot water much higher on the list than the lack of privacy that entails.
There’s a big fireplace in the living room that draws pretty well, so they can get comfortable once they get a good fire going. It doesn’t help with the hot water issue though. There’s the task of getting firewood, which is always a hassle. There’s still some stacked in the shed out back, but they’re running low on that too.
When Dean walks back into the kitchen he’s clean and looks scrubbed pink. Sam pours pasta and tomato sauce on two plates and hands Dean his helping before heading for the sofa. Dean’s right behind him.
Sam falls to it like a wild dog. He tries to eat slowly, but he’s just too damned hungry. When he glances at Dean he can pretty much see his own feelings mirrored there. Dean’s trying to take it easy too.
It’s not a domestic routine Sam would recommend. He’s sitting within reach of his brother, but he still feels lonely. It’s been like that for a couple of months. Dad’s practically never there, Dean's working all the time and Sam is either cold or hungry or lonely or all three at the same time.
-How are we for money? Sam asks when he’s mopped up the last of his tomato sauce with some bread.
-Not good. I get paid next Friday, but until then we’re pretty much down to small change.
-Crap.
-Yeah.
They can’t use Dad’s credit card here, they’ve been here for too long and they are staying put for a while. Double-crap. There’s no one to borrow from. Maybe a five or something, but they need food and stuff.
The pasta made Sam’s stomach quiet down, but he could really have gone for seconds tonight. Maybe some pie too. He’s got a little cash, he’s willing to bet Dean does too, but that’s the very last emergency reserve and they both know that at some point that’s going to be needed to put gas in the car.
Sam gets the plates and washes up quietly putting everything away. By the time he gets back to the couch Dean’s out cold with his head against the backrest and Sam turns the sound down on the TV and gets out his history book reading until it’s time to go to bed. He doesn’t try to wake Dean, just gets a blanket and covers him, figuring he needs sleep more than anything else right now.
Their room is as cold as a meat locker so Sam just strips off his jeans and the hoodie, leaving everything else on. His knees ache and his hands are like ice. He’s drawn into a fetal position when he wakes up at Dean’s rough call from the kitchen.
-Move your ass, Sammy, or I’ll leave you behind.
And the day starts off second verse same as the first with not enough food, not enough body heat and cold water.
Dean drops him out of sight from the school and then it’s like he’s almost happy for an hour and a half. At lunch Sam sits down next to Cody. No lunch money means he’s brown bagging it again, except you don’t really need a bag for one sandwich with a whole lot of nothing on it.
Cody looks at Sam, at the sad sandwich perched on top of his books, at Sam’s trembling hands and with a knowing glance pushes an apple, a couple of his own sandwiches and a Snickers in Sam’s direction.
When Sam opens his mouth to protest Cody smoothly comments on how his mom always packs too much food into his lunch. Sam figures it’s going to cost him at some point, but he’s too damned hungry to care. He sticks the Snickers bar in his pocket for later and devours the rest of the food.
Come Thursday they’re down to the last of the coffee and Dean’s figured out what’s wrong with the water heater, but he needs a grommet or a sprocket or something and there’s no money for that either.
Sam almost misses their last rundown motel. At least there was hot water. When Dean walks past him on his way to the bathroom he stops, turns and lays a hand on Sam’s shoulder.
-You’ve been smoking, he says but his tone is hardly even angry.
He just sounds so tired.
Sam doesn’t bother lying. He shrugs, looking down at the worn carpet, his own feet, Dean’s feet.
-Keeps the hunger down, he says in a small voice.
When he looks up he catches a glimpse of hopelessness on Dean’s face and it’s like a punch to the gut. For the first time in weeks he realizes just how tired Dean looks. More than just work-tired. Dean looks miserable. There’s a low curse from his brother’s lips. He lets Sam go without even a comment.
Sam understands that Dean might be just a little scared that Dad isn’t coming back this time. That freaks him out. Dean’s the one who always reassures Sam, tells him Dad’ll be back soon, everything’s alright. Growing up a Winchester means you don’t get to be a kid for long, but Sam’s never really thought about that before.
What if this is it? What if Dad’s staying gone this time? It could be just him and Dean. Somehow that doesn’t seem to Sam as much different from how things are now. Except, if it were true Sam would use every trick in the book to get them as far away from the ass end of Montana as possible. Especially in mid-winter.
Friday Sam doesn’t even have a token sandwich for lunch. Cody slides down next to him at lunch and simply hands over half his food. When Sam tries to make a joke about forgetting his lunch Cody pokes his index finger through the hole on the knee of Sam’s jeans and grins.
-Show me the trig problem and we’re even, he says.
He doesn’t even want Sam to do it for him, just show him how to do the equations. Sam figures it’s a good trade. Maybe he could make a sign and sit in the cafeteria “will tutor for food”. He’s almost desperate enough. He has no idea how he and Dean are going to make it through another week like this.
When he gets home the house is dark and cold, which is a little weird. Dean’s usually home before him on Fridays. The crew he works with knocks off early for the weekend. Maybe he’s got lucky or something.
They’ve been snapping at each other a lot lately. Sam’s hungry and cold, Dean’s hungry cold and tired - it’s not a good combination.
On autopilot Sam goes to the kitchen and opens the fridge. It doesn’t have any of the stuff most peoples refrigerators have, like half full jars of condiments and weird satchels of spice and stuff like that. There’s butter, a jug of water and half a lemon. That’s it.
Sam cooks rice and red beans and waits for Dean to get back. He starts pacing after two hours. He hauls in firewood just to have something to do. Snow’s started falling by then and he’s starting to worry. After three and a half hours he’s about ready to stick his gun in his jacket and head out to look for Dean.
The thought of Dad being gone was almost too easy to handle, but the thought of losing Dean is just too damned hard. At eight fifteen Sam’s about ready to just jump out of his skin. That’s when he finally hears the familiar rumble of the engine. He’s at the door and half way out it before the engine even dies.
-Where the hell have you been?! He flares as Dean gets out of the car.
-Dude, chill out.
-Fuck that, Dean! You don’t get to do that to me! I don’t care what Mary, Jane or Sue you were banging, don’t you ever…
And he hears himself sounding angry, upset, fucking jealous, for Christ’s sake, but he can’t stop screaming at Dean and then and than he catches the scent of something. Something absolutely, ridiculously good, and stops shouting for two seconds and notices three things.
Dean is grinning at him. There are pizza boxes on the shot gun seat and there are three bags of groceries in the back seat.
His eyes go wide. Then they narrow as he homes in on Dean again.
-What did you do? He asks suspiciously.
Dean’s grin never falters.
Sam knows a few things about Dean that not a lot of people know. Dean is loose and fast with his morals when it comes to anything in a skirt, but he takes his duties very seriously, especially when it comes to family. Dad clapping a hand on Dean’s shoulder and saying “look out for your little brother, boy” is pretty much Dean’s prime directive.
Sam’s offhand comment about the cigarettes the other night was unfair, but he’s just so damned tired and cold and starved all the time he didn’t have time to check it. He should have, though. That brought up another thing Sam’s known for a while and worried about a lot. Dean will do anything to make sure Sam is clothed and fed.
Anything means… anything. Dean won’t complain, he won’t even talk about it, but this ain’t the first cabin, clap-board, no-tell motel they’ve been dropped at. Sam knows how far Dean will go, he’s seen it.
-Big Ed runs a poker game on Fridays, Sammy. Get the pizza, would you?
-Big Ed?
-Yeah, he’s about 5’2’’. It’s all a big joke.
-I thought we were out of cash?
-We were. I broke out my last 20 to buy in the game.
-What if you’d lost?
-I had an advantage.
-You’re the king of poker?
Dean looks up at him with that measuring gleam that tells Sam he’s gauging how much he should tell his little brother at this particular time and place.
-I had the advantage of not affording to lose. You were starving, Sammy.
-It’s Sam.