Lost Boys

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"He left me," the tall, sallow-cheeked man said to himself as he paced the living room of the house he grew up in. 

"He fucking left me!" the man screams, grabbing the tablecloth next to him and ripping it away from the table, tossing the china and silverware set on it onto the floor. 

The sallow-cheeked man calms his breathing, as his doctors told him to. He moves from the living room to the T.V room, where his parents are sitting terrified. 

"I told him to wait for me. I told him I would get out. I told him to fucking wait for me!" he screams once again, this time to the husband and wife that raised him. Or, rather, the husband and wife who tossed him to the wolves. According to himself, of course. 

"You! You didn't stop him," the sallow-cheeked man says. 

He turns to his parents, who both turn away from him. He growls to himself, stalking over to the coffee table in front of his parents. He sits down on it, pushing his face closer to the ones who hurt him. The ones who sent him away because he loved too much. The ones who cast him out because his protection was too violent. The ones who let the only thing in the world he loved leave him. Donna and Charles. Mr. and Mrs. Winchester. Mom and Dad. 

He hates them. More than anything he hates them. He wanted to kill them right then and there. He wanted to watch the life drain from their eyes as he took his revenge for the lifetime of agony. Watch them struggle and scream as he took his revenge for taking his world away from him. He wanted to hurt them like they had hurt him. He wanted to see their pain. But he can't. Not yet. He has to wait. He has to see his world again. He has to see the only thing in this world that he loves. The only thing that keeps him alive. 

"Andrew, Why?!" his mother screams. 

"Why are you doing this to us?! We wanted to help you! we tried to help you!" 

The man turned and slapped his mother, hard. He tossed her head to the side and cut her cheek with his ring. 

He has to see his Michael.