Kevin slammed the door in Sam’s face again. The lock clicked into place, not that Sam had opposable thumbs to turn the knob with anyway. Three weeks, and Kevin still didn’t even like him. Sam sat on his haunches and whined loud as he dared. He didn’t want to alert any passing demons, but—one more night out in the cold, alone and—Sam pawed at the door.
Movement sounded inside the abandoned house. Sam couldn’t help the way his ears perked up; maybe, maybe finally—maybe Kevin would just let Sam in. His tail wagged.
Then the house stilled. Sam whined as he laid down, head resting on his paws.
Time seemed to pass differently as a dog, but not as different as time passed in Hell. When the moon shone high in the sky, Sam howled—at it, at Kevin, in general. Dean was gone. Cas was gone. Bobby was dead. And Sam was a dog, locked out by a kid who was desperately trying to find him.
He howled, standing up so he could scratch at the door. Apparently, Kevin wasn’t much of a dog person. But, miracle of miracles, Kevin opened the door, only to spray Sam in the face with… holy water? Sam whined, but bounded in before Kevin could shut him out again.
Bottles of Borax lay scattered over the floor, beside the new tablet Sam didn’t know how he’d obtained, and an empty styrofoam bowl that smelled like food. He went over and sniffed at it, as Kevin slammed the door shut. “Dog,” he snapped, but didn’t approach. “Shit, I do not have time for this.”
After a few perfunctory licks of the bowl, Sam pulled back to examine the rest of the room. A ratty blanket in the corner, cell phone in easy reach, two probably-stolen wallets beside the bed. He huffed. Didn’t seem like there was any more food, and Sam ignored his stomach as best he could. If Kevin didn’t want him around, Kevin certainly wasn’t going to feed him. Sam’d just find another dumpster later, once he was sure Kevin wouldn’t lock him out again. Time to be a happy, friendly dog.
Sam wagged his tail as Kevin watched him, clutching the squirt gun with a white-knuckled grip. Kid had dark circles under his eyes and had lost that soft curve of fat that’d been there before. His gaze cut to the tablet. Sam let out what he hoped was a happy-sounding bark, wagging his tail again. Finally, Kevin lowered the gun. He shook his head as he pulled out a tiny phone, staring at it like someone waiting to be asked out to prom. As Kevin pressed some buttons, indecisively, Sam padded over to the blanket and curled up next to it.
Rather than go to bed after stowing the phone away, Kevin settled in front of the tablet. He shot one last glance at Sam, then got to work. Sam curled tightly in on himself.
Three weeks ago, he’d been lucky to find Kevin. Sam had dragged his duffle bag from where Crowley had been kind enough to drop him (“I could kill you, moose, but I think we’ll have more fun this way”) to Rufus’s cabin. Mostly, he’d traveled by night so no one would try and take his bag, and he’d buried it behind the cabin. He hadn’t known what else to do with it, and it had—had pictures of Dean. The last pictures of Dean.
Without any way to get into the cabin, Sam had gone to town—only to find Kevin asking about a classic black car outside of the gas station. And now here Sam was, following Kevin around, getting sprayed with water and locked out of whatever abandoned building Kevin was frequenting that week.
(God, if Dean were here—Sam let out a soft whine, curling tighter in on himself before Kevin could spray him again.)This entry was originally posted at http://mako-lies.dreamwidth.org/150288.h