Wayward Son

Chapter 22

First I must thank the wonderful and generous @chessurK for taking pity on my nonexistent design skills and creating new cover art for each book in this series! Isn't it lovely? 

Ok. Now the story may proceed. 

Sam couldn't sleep. He spent most of the night in the library, digging through lore books, searching for something that could generate a ten thousand degree fire. But he couldn't concentrate. Morning crept closer by the hour, like a relentless stalker.

Dean had shut himself in his room after dinner. Sam hadn't seen him since. Ruthie had slipped silently from room to room gathering her things, avoiding eye contact, already a ghost. Sam hadn't begged or pleaded. That hadn't worked last time. No, this was Dean's mess. He was the only one who could clean it up.

But apparently, he wasn't even going to try.

Sam's hands clenched into fists on the thick book he was failing to read. He hated feeling so helpless. He wanted Ruthie to stay. He thought they'd settled this in Reeds Spring: she was supposed to stay with them forever. And eventually, Dean would run out of excuses and willpower, and he and Ruthie would be together. Be a couple, be happy. Hell, maybe even get married. That's what Sam had believed. It's what he'd wanted for Dean for as long as he could remember. Having someone, being with someone who understood The Life, who wouldn't ask him to give up hunting, because she knew it was in his blood.

And they'd found her. Or rather, she'd found Dean. She was like a miracle, a gift-wrapped delivery from heaven, dropped in his lap. Perfect for him. Perfect for each other.

Dean loved her. Sam had known it long before Ruthie's blood had killed the kounoúpi. And yet, he was letting her go. Making her go, apparently.

Sam sank back in his chair and wiped his hands over his face. He ought to get some sleep if they were going to Ohio tomorrow. But he didn't want to go without Ruthie. He stood and headed for his room. In the morning, he'd beg her to reconsider. Dean might be too proud, but Sam wasn't. He'd plead for a little more time, promise to talk to Dean for her. Maybe come right out and tell Dean exactly why Monica had died. Get them to sit down and talk it out.

If that didn't work, he still hadn't ruled out the dungeon.

* * * * *

Sam woke early despite his short night, as anxious and strained as when he'd fallen asleep. He hurried through a shower and started coffee, but didn't cook breakfast. He had no appetite. He'd make something for Ruthie if she was hungry. Dean could fend for himself.

Sam waited in the kitchen, sipping his coffee, trying to formulate an argument that might make her stay. He believed if she'd just hang in there a little longer, surely Dean would come to his senses.

He expected her to appear in the doorway any minute, but time slipped by with no sign of her. Sam finished his coffee and poured a second cup. Halfway through that one, she still hadn't showed. He allowed himself a flicker of hope. Maybe she was wrestling with her decision. Maybe she was as torn up over the idea of her leaving as he was. If that were the case, he wanted to nudge her along in the right direction. He left his half-drunk mug on the table and headed for her room.

He listened at the closed door for a minute, but didn't hear anything. Was she still asleep? That didn't seem likely, when she'd slept through most of the previous day and night. After a moment's hesitation, he knocked on the door. There was no response. He cracked the door open. "Ruthie?" Still nothing.

Heart beating faster now, he pushed the door open and switched on the light. She wasn't there. Her bed was made; the picture of her with her dad was missing from her cleared-off desk. Sam pulled open a couple dresser drawers—emptied.

He turned and ran down the hallway, pulse pounding in his throat. He rushed into the bathroom. "Ruthie?" His voice echoed in the empty room.

Had she suspected he might refuse to take her to the bus station, and slipped out alone while they slept? She hadn't said where she was going. She hadn't even said goodbye.

He charged back through the hallway to Dean's room. He burst through the door and flipped on the light. "Dean, she's gone!"

Dean lay on his side, facing Sam. He scrunched up his face against the light. "What?"

"Ruthie. She's gone!"

Dean squinted at him, looking entirely too calm. "You sure about that?"

"She's not in her room; she's not in the bathroom or the library. She didn't come to the kitchen—why are you still just laying there? Get up; we have to find her!"

A movement right behind Dean made Sam jump. A head of disheveled dark hair and an olive-skinned shoulder appeared. Twinkling brandy eyes peeked at him over Dean's arm. "Hi, Sam."

Sam's mouth fell open.

Ruthie and Dean. Dean and Ruthie. There they were. It was finally happening. Was he dreaming?

He ought to turn around, ought to leave and shut the door, but his feet were cemented to the floor.

"Uh...hi," he said stupidly.

Dean cocked an eyebrow at him, but Sam saw the corner of his lip twitch.

"So, then...you're staying?" Sam asked Ruthie.

The corners of her eyes crinkled. Her hand appeared, and she slipped it into Dean's, intertwining her fingers with his. "I'm staying."

Sam let the relief wash over him like a wave. He exhaled; his feet came unglued from the floor. He knew it was weird to keep looking at them, but he couldn't resist one more glance on his way out. He didn't try to hide the giant grin that stretched his cheeks. "It's about time."

He shut the door behind him and returned to the kitchen, feeling as though he'd never be able to stop smiling. He sat at the table and drank his coffee, grinning alone in the room like an idiot, and not caring.

An idea occurred to him, and he didn't bother running it past Dean. He drained his mug and headed for the garage.

Ruthie's packed duffel bag sat beside the Impala. Sam let out another sigh of relief. Starting up the engine, he thought about the warehouse fire and the spontaneous combustions. Delaying their hunt might cause some unintended consequences in Ohio.

He shook his head and backed out into the bright sunshine anyway. Dean and Ruthie were going to have a day or two alone, even if it meant him stranding them in the bunker without a car. Just this once, his brother wasn't going to sacrifice for the greater good. Sam wasn't going to let him.

This time, the world and its problems could wait.

My dear readers, this concludes Book 3 in the Wayward Son series. The fourth and final installment is underway, and I'll begin posting it as soon as it is polished. Thank you for joining me on this adventure!

Speaking of adventure, I have a special announcement. I will be publishing my original novel, Second Life, in time for Christmas! I'm seeking readers who are willing to leave an honest Amazon review in exchange for the e-book, free, before it is available to the public. Receiving lots of reviews is the best way to move a book up the search lists, and your support would mean the world to me. Here's a teaser for Second Life:

When a young archivist meets her celebrity crush just before a deadly attack, she must decide if she will risk her life to save him. Even if they both survive, they'll be separated by an ocean, by his fame—by her integrity. And he never even got her name. 

If you're interested, please send me a private message. Thank you for all your support and encouragement!