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Sam left in late August. He slammed the door behind him so hard the room shook. John and Dean could do nothing but sit in their contempt.
Dean stepped forward, prepared to chase his little brother, to make him come back. Sam had tried to run away before, and Dean had always made him come back; it was his job to get Sam back, but this time his father stopped him.
”Let him go. I think you’ve done enough,” John exhaled the words through gritted teeth.
Dean turned to his father and just looked at him. He wanted to scream or smash things. He wanted to tell him how this was not his fault. He wished he could defend himself, but when he opened his mouth he found no words.
John threw his arms up. ”Well? How fucking long did you know he was gonna pull that shit?”
Dean still couldn’t speak. He looked at the door again.
John swept his arm across the table and knocked several papers onto the floor. “If you’d bothered to teach him any Goddamn discipline, or cut this college shit off the first time he brought it up, maybe I wouldn’t have to be dealing with it right now. You realize this is keeping me from hunting right? Keeping me from killing the evil son of a bitch that burnt your mother alive? I ask you to do one fucking thing- I mean, you can’t even babysit?”
Once again, Dean choked. “I’m sorry, sir,” he muttered, essentially at a whisper. He looked at the floor, and thought maybe if he left now he could still catch Sam, he would probably be waiting for a bus.
John jerked his head to the side, took a step across the room, and backhanded Dean in the face. Then he shook his hand off, and walked into the other room, slamming the door behind him.
Dean didn’t really notice he was bleeding; he left the motel quickly.
Outside, it was nearly dark. There were bugs flying around the parking lot lights, and Dean walked fast, imagining what steps his brother might’ve taken minutes before. People sitting outside watched him as he passed.
He got to the bus stop less than three minutes after leaving the room, and found it deserted. If Sam had gone to take a bus, it had left already.
Dean walked back to the room, suddenly aware of drops of blood on the concrete that now formed a trail from their door to the bus stop, at first he thought it was Sam’s blood. Then he felt his own face, and he found it wet.
He covered his nose as he stalked back to the room, looking around carefully for any sign of his brother.
A woman smoking outside stopped him to ask if he was okay. He ignored her.
When Dean got back to the motel room, he found a note on the fridge from his father. “Went out, back tomorrow.”
Dean called Sam; he did not answer.
Dean stood in front of the bathroom mirror. His gray T-shirt was stained down the front with small rusty circles, he took it off, and held it to his nose like a towel. The necklace Sam gave him when they were kids bounced against his chest.
Sam had run away before. He always came back when he ran out of food or money, or when Dean found him.
Yes, Sam was stubborn, but he never stayed gone, although he was an adult now, and he had planned this months in advance.
As far as Dean knew, Sam had never actually planned it ahead of time before, that was new, and he had also never given Dean a warning before, but most importantly, John had never told Sam not to come back before; that was probably the worst part.
No, the worst part was that Dean just stood there like at idiot and watched it all happen.
Whatever, Sam never listened to their Dad anyway, why would he start listening now?
Dean put on a different shirt, and turned the TV on to combat the silence. He took a beer from the fridge. Then he picked up the papers his father had swept onto the floor, and he returned to the files he’d been reading before. He stopped work intermittently to try calling his little brother, until eventually the line went busy, and then he kept calling just to hear the beeping noise.
He fell asleep around 4:00 AM. He woke up the next morning just as his father turned the doorknob.
John started packing immediately, and Dean followed suit. They wordlessly shuffled around, throwing their few possessions into two duffle bags.
John stood at the table and sorted the papers by case. He shoved several of them into his own bag, and handed the rest to Dean.
“I’m staying on this thing to Colorado, you should follow that trail to Minnesota,” John said, as though he was talking to his coworker and not his son.
Dean nodded his head.
They left the room, slamming the door behind them.
“You’ll take my car,” John announced. He tossed his keys to Dean.
The father started to look around for a car that would be easy to break into, but he simply found one that was unlocked and got in. Then got to work hot-wiring it with a penny and a pair of tiny pliers.
Dean switched half the weapons from their trunk into the stolen car.
He slid into the front seat of the Impala as his father drove away. He threw his bag in the passenger seat and heavily closed the door.
Dean called Sam again, and again the line was busy. He knew it would be, and he knew his brother didn’t want to hear from him, but he didn’t really care; he just had to try.
He put his head down, stretched his fingers over the steering wheel and sighed. Then he sat back up and started the engine.
Dean loved that car more than almost anything, but somehow in that moment, driving it was a punishment.
As he drove off, he turned the music all the way up, and he wished it was louder.