Disclaimer: The characters don´t belong to me, but in the spirit of sharing...
Just a little blurb inspired by In My Time of Dying
I WASN´T READY
Sam took off after the boys checked into the hotel, mumbling something about needing to stretch his legs. Dean waited a bit, trying to reassure himself that this time Sam would come back on his own. It not, Dean would go after him, like he always did and bring the boy home. Sam knew it as well and took comfort in the idea that Dean, at least, would never abandon him.
Sam covered a lot of ground, his long legs moving quickly, his muscles strong despite the time spent cooped up in the hospital. It wasn't that he was really going anywhere, just walking to try to shake the numbness. He followed a pathetic gravel path along a stream that hardly deserved the name. To his right the traffic whizzed by. It didn't matter to Sam, who had never been much of a return to nature kinda kid and besides he hardly paid his surroundings any mind. He sunk into himself. The trauma of the past couple of months bowled him over and he felt more lost than ever.
He was a veritable orphan now, though it wasn't the first time he had learned to live without his father's indomitable presence. It's not the same! he inwardly screamed. DAMMIT Dad, why couldn't you ever wait until I was ready?
It was like when he had taught Sam how to swim, pushing the shocked five year old into an ice cold lake. Sam had panicked, letting out his breath in one silent yell, and sunk like a rock. Swallowing a mouthful of water, he had hit the bottom of the lake hard. It took two tries for Sam to panic his way to the surface, yelling for Dean. His brother took a step forward, but John had placed a restraining hand on the boy's shoulder, so Dean just yelled encouragement from the dock. Sam went under again twice, each time managing to keep closer to the surface, before John allowed Dean to fish the exhausted boy out of the lake.
Sam scrambled up, choking and afraid. Dean tried to soothe him, rubbing the ratty beach towel over his shivering bare shoulders. He and John murmured their approval, but John´s proud smile faltered when he caught a glimpse of his youngest's face. Little Sam glared, shaking with a combination of anger, exhaustion and cold. Okay, it was mainly anger. He jerked back when John reached out to steady him. "DON´T TOUCH ME," he screamed, deadly serious.
"Sam," John started, but the five year old didn't let him finish, he slipped past his father, breaking into a run when an angry "HEY! Don't you walk away from me!" followed him down the dock.
John watched, jaw slack with shock. "What's wrong with him?" He demanded of his older son.
Dean looked back evenly before he responded. "You threw him in a lake," said the older boy coldly.
John's eyes narrowed at the implied rebuke. "Excuse me?" He demanded, temper rising, "You have something you want to say to me?"
The nine-year-old held his gaze a moment, showing unexpected defiance. John took a threatening step towards him, causing Dean to beat a hasty retreat. "No, sir," he conceded.
"Good," John snapped. "Now, go tell you brother to get his behind in the car. We're heading out."
"Yes, sir," Dean sighed, taking off quickly after Sam.
He found him, curled up in a small cove between the roots of an old tree and a great big rock. "Sammy?" He called. When the boy didn't answer, Dean slipped in beside him.
"Go away," Sam had insisted, squirming away. "You're too big. You don't fit."
"Look who's talking" teased the older brother, pinching the baby fat in Sam's cheek.
"Don't!" Yelled Sam, smacking the hand away.
"Okay, okay," Dean laughed.
Sam's defensive glare gradually softened. "Dean?" He asked, "Did Dad do that to you too?"
Dean swallowed hard. "Yep." After a pause he added, "it kinda sucks."
Sam nodded in agreement, turning to climb up the rock into the sunshine. "I wasn't ready!" He whined.
When Dean didn't respond, apparently not having an answer to that. Sam asked with a sigh "Is Dad mad at me?"
Dean rolled his eyes. "What do you think?"
"Ding, ding, ding!"
"Let's go, buddy." Sam didn't move. "…unless you want to get spanked."
Sam exhaled in annoyance. "Fine," he responded, scrambling down the side of rock wearing his towel like a cape.
Good times, Sam thought, bitterly. Wasn't there ever a time when he and his father had gotten along? I really can't deal with this.
Even in death, Dad's still pushing, Sam thought, wiping an icy tear from his eye. Like when he taught me how to drive, or that damn bow-hunting lesson. Dad never explained, just expected Sam to be some kind of freaking psychic. Yeah, that was a little ironic now, but thinking back on the million disagreements, it just didn't add up to anything healthy. I always thought that we would figure it out, you know, Sam thought to himself. More than anything he wanted to talk it out with Jess, but she was gone too.
They're all gone. Mom, Jess, Jim, Caleb, and Dad. The litany was now familiar and so was the wave of guilt that swept over him. It was all his fault! It was his responsibility. The job that he had never wanted, that he had tried to run away from. Like a coward, he thought bitterly. Now he was committed, but he didn't know how to make it stop, barely knew how to put one foot in front of the other. Wouldn't Dad be proud? Sam thought, filled with self loathing.
Rain began to fall, plastering Sam's hair to the side of his head and drenching his thin jacket. Sam hunched stubbornly against it, but conceded to take shelter under a large tree. He knew that Dean would worry, that he should go back, but couldn't bring himself to move in that direction.
"Dad, I'm SORRY." He gulped out, bawling at the wind.
You're always sorry, he heard the bitter voice in his head. Was it his dad? Sam knew that it was just an echo, wanted to believe it was more. There would be no more fights, now, because there was no one to fight with. Sam, stubborn as he was, had missed his chance. I wasn't ready! Was all Sam could think.
"I wasn´t ready," he whispered.