The skin at the back of his neck prickles, but no matter which way he turns, no one's coming.

A thought he hasn't let himself have (on top of the thoughts about what a shitty, shitty idea this is -- because that voice sounds like Dad, sounds like Sam, and if they fucking want to take him to task for this they can goddamn well be here or they're just gonna have to suck it up and deal) is what if this doesn't work?

God knows maybe he'll be a fuckup at this, too. Nothing else he's turned his hand to has ever worked.

Why did Dad save me, anyway? Sam's the one --

Sam --

Oh God, I can't do this alone.

"Where the hell are you, bitch!"

Yelling doesn't make him feel better, but the pain in his throat from that scream is at least a start on what he deserves.

A pathetic, shitty one, but that's par for the course in his pathetic, shitty life to date.

"It's like a frickin' free meal! Don't tell me you're gonna come over all hesitant on me now."