A/N: Been almost a year but I'm back. Thanks for your patience.

Sam had homework. The nice teacher with the pretty smile and the hair that smelled like strawberries had set it. He couldn't remember her name. After 3 schools in the last month (excessive even for them) it was getting hard to keep track. The constant moving probably was linked to November creeping closer like a cloud above to cover the sun.

Sam really didn't want to be in this hunt. He hated the woods and the way all the shadows appeared to be constantly shifting and each step he took created a cacophony that seemed deafening in the terse silence.

Usually, Sam would be arguing with everything he had but he knew better then to test his dad this close to the day. His usual characteristic short temper seemed endless compared to the yelling that made an appearance with every sentence out his dad's mouth. The drinking hardly helped. Each night when they weren't on a job, Dad would walk to the nearest bar and wouldn't return until the next morning when he'd be in a fowl mood and snap at every sound.

And Sam couldn't even rely on Dean's support at this time of year. Dean didn't even seem to be aware when there was a disagreement on going. He withdrew into himself and barely spoke a word. It almost made Sam long for the loud, tuneless singing that acted as his alarm clock.

Sam barely stayed a week in each school too. He was falling further behind all his classmates and he didn't see anyway of catching up. If today's hunt was successful, they'd be gone tomorrow. So maybe it was a good thing Sam hadn't done the homework. It was looking unlikely he'd have a chance to turn it in.

Due to the amount of travelling lately, Sam had read every book he owned at least 7 times. He debated the risks of asking his Dad if he could buy a new one before deciding the risks outweighed the benefits.

Sam hated November for lots of reasons. A plethora even. But he hated it most because the date meant nothing to him. Sure, he knew what had happened. And he could practically feel the pain oozing off his dad and brother. And he hated that they were in pain and he had to spend a moth creeping round on tiptoes. But that was the extent of emotion he felt about the day. He didn't mourn his mom. She was abstract. Disconnected. A pretty fairytale that Dean used to whisper to him when Sam had asked why they don't have a mommy. Sam didn't want to avenge her. He wasn't fighting a war in her name. He hunted because that's what his Dad and brother did. Not because of a faded memory that had been embellished beyond recognition. To hear the elder Winchesters talk about her, she was beautiful, funny, kind and pretty much every other good thing it was possible to be. She was perfect. An angel. And to Sam, she wasn't real.

"Sam, Grab the gear."

Sam jumped slightly. The car had pulled to a halt without him noticing. He grimaced as he slid out his seat while swinging the bag over his shoulder. They had arrived. Sam sighed and prepared himself for a long trek filled with lengthy silence.