Born Under a Bad Sign // Supernatural

two

Born Under a Bad Sign: two

The house shudders as a door slams, a loud noise that jolt Sam from his daze. He looks up from the dining room table where he's reading a book silently to see his brother storm into the room. Sam arches an eyebrow. Dean's covered in blood, his lip and eyebrow cut but most of it's not his, his clothes torn and dirty. Dean was supposed to be in school, he'd just turned eighteen but there was a couple more months until the school year would end for someone his age.

"I got bored." Dean answers angrily pulling his jacket off, Sam shrugs and turns back to his book, "and no, I didn't kill him, Sammy." Sam doesn't look up, he hardly cares enough.

Dean continues speaking, used to his brothers quiet tone, "aren't you supposed to be in class? Or did you scare them too much." Sam inclines his head slightly and Dean snorts.

"Maybe," He drawls, "if you weren't so fucking creepy and emotionless as a rock, you might not." Sam gives him a lazy look.

"Why would I want that?" Dean shakes his head at his younger brother and headed upstairs.

Sam stared at the pages of his book but didn't recognize any of the words for a very long time. He'd never liked other kids, other people, he just saw them as minor nuisances that could be picked off. His father, he felt nothing towards the man, should he feel love? Hate? Trust? He didn't know, sometimes he wondered if he knew how emotions felt at all. Dean though, he didn't know what it was but Dean was very important to him, if Dean left he felt he probably wouldn't be able to continue and he didn't know if that was love or not.

Sam lay his forgotten book on the table and lay his head beside it, he thought about Dean and then his father, he thought of the woman he watched his father kill tonight ago so they could get this house, he thought of how he could faintly smell cinnamon and cream around the house, how she'd smelt when her corpse had fallen onto him and his father had laughed cruelly. How his fourteen-year-old strength couldn't hold her and she'd fallen to the ground, still warm but lifeless.

He closes his eyes for just a second and when he opens them, his father is slamming a rolled up newspaper on his head. Sam gazes up John, bored and John rolls his eyes.

"What are you doing, boy?" He asks, he pulls a gun and knife from his jacket pockets them dumps them all on the table, he's left in a sweaty grey shirt and frayed jeans.

"Nothing." Sam replies numbly, he stands with his book and walking slowly up the stairs, he's about half way to the top when John calls him.

"You made food? You know Dean can't cook for shit." Sam shrugs and drops his book on the stairs, he goes to the kitchen and looks through the pantry and fridge for something of the woman's that they hadn't eaten left. Sam didn't like the way his father spoke, such brutality and anger that always seemed to stay but he didn't know if that made him annoyed by the man himself. Sam wondered that if his father dropped dead at that very second, would he care?

Sam has managed to cook up some slightly off pasta with old sauce that tasted a little of dust but it wasn't as if his family was fussy, John ate in seconds while marching around, gathering himself up before going off drinking, the door slamming again. Sam prods his own food with a lazy food, he's not very hungry at the current time.

"Seriously, why didn't you go to school?" Dean asks, a tone that Sam doesn't understand in his voice. He's never been that good at understand emotions.

A two year old Sam sits on the floor of a motel room, a stick in his hands, big hazel eyes roaming the room. A six year old Dean lies on the bed beside him, fiddling with a handgun that his father had left sitting on his own bed. Sam was hardly paying attention but suddenly there was a bang in the air like fireworks and Dean was sobbing loudly, blood leaking from his hand.

Sam started to sob with him not understand what the matter was, their father cam stumbling through the door with a face of rage and ruin. His foot knee hit Sam in the side of the head as he marched over to Dean.

"Emotions are vulnerable, Sammy." He spat before locking himself and Dean in the bathroom, they were in there for hours but when they returned, the tears had dried on both Winchester boy's cheeks.

Sam shrugs and takes a small bite from his food, the slimy pasta sliding down his throat with an unpleasant texture.

"You need to Sammy." Dean tells him, Sam looks up at him with a raised eyebrow. "Don't look at me like that." Sam sighs and begins to prod his food again. He then decides that this is just too boring to be bothered with, he stands and throws his food- bowl and all- into the rubbish.

"Night Dean." He says softly.

"Night Sammy." Dean replies with a defeated sigh, Sam climbs the stairs and enters one of the rooms.

On the bedside table is that woman and a taller man, both smiling widely into the camera. He frowns and picks up the picture, he looks at that smiling woman who'll never smile again and the laughing man who she'll never hear laugh again. He'd never see her again and it was Sam's fault almost, his family's. Why did they do this, kill for their needs? Why did what they want come before others and why, couldn't Sam find it in himself to care?

He replaces the photo and climbs into bed, he thinks of that woman again for a few more seconds before closing his eyes and never again letting her cross his mind.

My dog is slobbering all over my leg and now there's something grey and slimy on my pants O_O I hope you enjoyed it! Please tell me your thoughts!

Love Percy xo