New story! Finally! Enjoy, just a head's up that I do not own any of these characters, and the title is a play on "Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret." By Judy Bloom. Also, warning for a bit of language.

Sam Winchester really hates his life sometimes. Sometimes being every other day, or when his father is being particularly annoying. Such as today. It all started at the ass crack of dawn with a horn in his ear.

"The house is under attack."

Yeah, right. Since when have they ever stayed in a house?

"A vampire pack has surrounded all exits including windows."

It's rather bright out for vampires, don't you think?

"Dean, what do you do?"

Of course. Go to Dean first. Dean, the bright little soldier. Dean the perfect, shining example of what a hunter should be.

The drill actually didn't go all too bad. Sam went through the motions, halfheartedly pretending to slash the heads off of invisible creatures. He hit all the targets dead center during their fire range practice, ran three miles, and ate his cereal in complete silence.

His father didn't seem to appreciate the lack of enthusiasm.

"What if this had been real, Sam?"

Sam shrugs. He'd probably be dead. That wouldn't be so bad, would it? It'd beat living in fear every constant waking moment of his life. Just waiting for some monster to gank them.

"I can tell you what would have happened. You would have got us all killed!"

Another shrug. Eat more of these off brand of the off brand fruit loops. Stale, and the box was just opened five minutes ago.

"That doesn't matter to you? None of this matters to you!" Well, sounds like Mr. High and Mighty just answered himself, which means Sam could just look up at those blazing dark eyes and say nothing. Dean waits in the corner of the kitchen like he always does, ready to step in and take any blow that could be made out of a "bad decision" or "a really heated moment" but that never matters because "he didn't mean to, Sammy" and "you know he gets a little touchy after a drink".

"Maybe I should stop caring about you!"

Hmm, that doesn't sound too much different than now.

"I can just forget to get groceries, stop enrolling you in school, take back all the clothes and useless books I bought you."

"They're not useless!"

He doesn't understand. No one understands. Hunting these…these creatures isn't helpful. There will always be another werewolf. Vampires will always exist so what is the point?

"You are never going to have to use that shit in your life!"

Sam isn't sure why he's out of his seat all of a sudden, but he is. He's shorter than John, shorter than Dean, and he has to look up just to reach the man's eyes.

"And this? Running around the country, scamming people, teaching us to lie and cheat and steal, that's important? That's the life lesson you want to instill on us?"

John probably doesn't even know the meaning of instil, but his jaw sets, his hands wavers by his side, and Dean takes a step forward. No, not this time. If John-his father wants to hit him, he can. That's not going to change the way he thinks.

"I'm showing you the importance of family. We're searching-"

"We're searching for the Fountain of Youth. El Dorado. A piece of hay in a needle stack!" Sam spews off. "We are never going to find the thing that killed mom! Never! So why can't we have just mourned like a normal family?"

There's no reply. John's jaw trembles. His eyes look red around the edges and even slightly wet. He raised his fist, then promptly drops it by his side. There's no anger in his eyes any more. He's disgusted, repelled by this thing he calls son. He never says that, but Sam doesn't have to be a mind reader to know what he means.

"Go to your room." It's not his father voice. It's not as rough and deep, but a bit higher, a quiver of fear in the first syllable. Sam glances over at his brother and sighs. He runs off to the adjoining room because Dean finally got to the size where they could not share a bed.

The door slams, and Sam crumples against it.

Why him? Why couldn't he be more like Dean? Why couldn't his father be a normal, sane man? Maybe he should run away, run away and live with his English teacher. He did talk to Sam quite a bit, always gave him new books to read and suggestions for his writing.

The young boy sniffs and wipes his nose before getting up and stumbling over to the bed. It' rock hard, groans every times he moves, and the sheets that always have one mysterious stain no matter what motel they're at for the night, or two nights, maybe even a week.

Damn his father.

Why can't he see that he's no better than the monsters he hunts? What they are, he is on the inside.

Sam lies there for minutes, hours, maybe even days. He can still hear the yelling and thudding outside the door. Dean the perfect soldier. Dean the human punching bag. Dean the savior. Dean the protector.

Sam the disappointment. Sam the fuck-up.

He turns on his side, tosses and turns until he's lying on his side and starring at the small nightstand between the two twin sized beds. There's scratches on the wood, flakes of it peeling off. The handle is loose, shakes in his fingers as he pulls open the only drawer.

A bible.

What else did he expect? A one way ticket to any other country but this one?

Sam stares at it before picking the dusty thing off. People have written their names inside, like it was theirs or maybe it's just a log of some sorts for everyone that passes through. Sam reads a bit, only half of Genesis.

He's prayed to God.

He prays every night and every morning but nothing ever happens.

Maybe that's not the way to go about it, though. If God has a full time job of running all of the universe and time and all that jazz, he's probably a bit too busy to answer petty calls from thirteen year olds.

Angels are mentioned throughout the bible. Large, beautiful creatures with swords that glow in flames and bodies too bright for eyes to see. The messengers of God. The soldiers of God.

Perhaps he just had the wrong address the entire time.

Sam picks out a name and decides to give it a try.

Dear…well this is strange, how do I even title this thing? Dear, Michael, or Archangel Michael if that's how you guys say it up in Heaven. I've been having a hard time down here. No one seems to be answering my calls. I thought I'd try you. I just…I need a sign. Please? I just need to know if anything's going to get better. Is there anything I can do?

His father doesn't speak t him for the rest of the might. Maybe that's a sign of hope.

XxxxX

Nothing else happens. Shit still gets shittier.

Please. Michael? Zachariah? Anyone? Are you there? It's me, Sam Winchester.

XxxxX

Okay, no book references. I get that. Not your style. Please help me. We're moving. Again. Some new town, and John just dropped us off, no money, no nothing, just kicked us out the car and said goodbye. Dean says he's coming back. I wish I had his faith. I wish I had money to buy a proper ice pack for his eye.

XxxxX

Hello?