Supernatural Fan Fiction ❯ The Way Life Is ❯ Them's The Breaks ( Chapter 1 )

DISCLAIMER: The characters of Supernatural will, sadly, never be mine, and neither will the song “Breakaway” by Kelly Clarkson. That's all, folks!

 

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Grew up in a small town,

And when the rain would fall down,

I'd just stare out my window,

Dreaming of what could be

And if I'd end up happy,

I would pray.

I would pray.

 

It was interesting, Dean Winchester thought idly. Interesting the way life ran sometimes. For instance, one day, you could be a perfectly normal five-year-old boy with a mommy and a daddy and a baby brother.

 

And then the next thing you know, you can become a totally atypical child with no mommy and a revenge-obsessed daddy and a baby brother who will be forever marked as different. You could go in one instant from happy to broken, from safe and secure to endangered and terrified.

 

From boy to man.

 

Trying hard to reach out,

But when I tried to speak out,

Felt like no one could hear me.

Wanted to belong here,

But something felt so wrong here.

So I prayed I could break away.

 

The Winchester boys didn't grow up in one city, or even one state. In fact, from what Dean remembered, they spent more time in their father's truck and in motel rooms than in any kind of real home.

 

Dean, being only a normal five-year-old, didn't really understand all the moving around, or why it was happening, or what had happened to his mother. During the first few months, he had tried asking, many times. But his father never answered, except to snap that he was doing what was best for the family, and finally Dean stopped talking about it. Instead, he concentrated on trying to do what he could—replace Mary Winchester.

 

He didn't do it intentionally, because what five-year-old even knows how to spell the word replaced? But from the day he finally figured out that his mom wasn't coming back, he devoted himself entirely to helping his father, and watching over Sam.

 

That last thing quickly became the most important thing in the world to Dean. Little Sammy became the center of the Winchester universe. Small and defenseless and so innocent—both father and elder son thought of Mary every time they looked at the baby. Maybe that was why John and Dean cared more about him than they cared about anything else—even each other.

 

But regardless of the reason, all that really mattered was that Sam was taken care of. The boy would never be allowed to be normal, but his small family did everything they could to protect him—mostly by giving him the means to protect himself. Sam was given self-defense lessons at six. He was taught about all manner of mythological creatures, spirits, demons and monsters from the time he was seven. By ten, he could use over a dozen different types of weapon. And throughout his life, one lesson took precedence over every other: stay close to the family.

 

I'll spread my wings and I'll learn how to fly.

I'll do what it takes `til I touch the sky.

And I'll make a wish,

Take a chance,

Make a change,

And break away.

 

Dean and Sam grew both closer and further apart as they got older. Closer, in that they kept a more careful eye on each other than normal siblings. Closer, in that they spent most of their time together. Closer, in that they protected each other. But even considering all that, Dean did keep things from his brother.

 

For instance, he never told Sam how many times he was injured during the few years when he hunted and Sam didn't. He never told Sam how many arguments he and John had about the youngest Winchester. And he certainly never told Sam exactly how many times he regretted the fact that his younger brother joined the “family business” when he was old enough.

 

And he knew that Sam kept things from him, too.

 

Dean knew his brother better than he had ever known anyone, and he could practically see the hunting lifestyle chipping away at the kid. He could see the longing for friends, someone to share with, a home…a normal life. And although he really wished he could give Sam what he wanted, there was also a part of him that was relieved at the fact that his brother couldn't have any of that, because at least this way Sam wouldn't leave them.

 

And yet…and yet…

 

That selfish part didn't keep Dean from feeling horrible.

 

All the time.

 

Out of the darkness and into the sun,

But I won't forget all the ones that I love.

I'll take a risk,

Take a chance,

Make a change,

And break away.

 

Dean was fourteen when he left Sam for an extended period for the first time. He and John went on a hunt together in Oklahoma and Sam, too young to hunt yet, had been left in the care of one of the pastors in town.

 

The hunt went perfectly well, by Winchester standards, but Dean was distracted the entire weekend, thinking about Sam.

 

John never said anything about it, but he shot irritable looks at his oldest son each time Dean checked his watch, or fidgeted around, or showed his impatience to go back in any way. And so eventually Dean stopped letting his worries show.

 

The second time Dean and John went away, a month or two later, Dean only let them show once or twice before he managed to hide them.

 

The third time, Dean managed to mask them completely.

 

And by the fourth hunt away, he didn't feel them at all.

 

Wanna feel the warm breeze,

Sleep under a palm tree,

Feel the rush of the ocean,

Get onboard a fast train,

Travel on a jet plane, far away

And break away.

 

Sam's first hunt took place when he was twelve, and both Dean and John were surprised when he showed quite a capacity for fighting. He had always been a natural with weapons, but a shooting range and a battlefield were two entirely different places, because in shooting ranges you could take your time and no one else's life depended on you.

 

But a battlefield…

 

Well, it was enough to make anyone nervous.

 

Not Sam, though, apparently. The kid did perfectly his first time out. John had been afraid that Sam would need extra protection, and secretly Dean had been, too, but Sam had quickly proved that he was more than capable of taking care of himself in combat.

 

John's relief at having another excellent hunter in the family was thorough and complete, but Dean's was…tempered. Tempered, because…he had noticed something that his father simply hadn't seen.

 

I'll spread my wings and I'll learn how to fly.

I'll do what it takes `til I touch the sky.

And I'll make a wish,

Take a chance,

Make a change,

And break away.

 

When Sam was seventeen, he confessed to Dean that he wanted to quit hunting.

 

He shared the secret one night when the brothers were holed up in their shared room, for no apparent reason other than that he'd had enough of hiding it. He had seemed shocked at his own daring, and immediately tried changing the subject.

 

But Dean…Dean just looked at him, and didn't say anything.

 

In truth, he wasn't all that surprised. It had always been obvious that the youngest Winchester had never been all that passionate about hunting. Well, obvious to the son, anyway—the father wasn't quite so in tune with the feelings of those around him. But deep down, Dean had sort of been hoping that Sam wouldn't ever come to the point where he would have to bring it up.

 

“So you knew,” Sam said, without any emotion coloring his tone. “Of course you knew.”

 

“Yeah. But I was sort of hoping we wouldn't have to talk about it.” Sam looked quickly at him, and he rushed to cover up the awkward moment. “So how long have you been thinking about this?”

 

“I…I don't really know.”

 

Dean smiled a little. “That long, huh? Well…why are you telling me? Why not Dad? And why now?”

 

Sam shrugged. “I've been hiding it…but I got tired of it. And if I told Dad he'd lose it, but…well, I thought maybe you'd…you'd understand.”

 

Dean nodded, but kept his expression noncommittal. “What would you do if you did quit?”

 

Sam didn't have to think about it, which said very clearly that no matter what he told Dean, he'd been thinking a lot on this subject. “I'd go to college. Stanford University of California. And then…well, then I'd go to law school. Fight…in my own way.”

 

Dean nodded thoughtfully, but now he'd arrived at the question he really wanted to ask. “And…what do you plan to do about this?”

 

“Hey, guys, I've got us a job! Get down here!”

 

Dean's question was never answered.

 

Out of the darkness and into the sun.

But I won't forget the ones that I love.

I'll take a risk,

Take a chance,

Make a change,

And break away.

 

Sam Winchester had always had fairly good luck. Certainly better luck than his father and brother, anyway. He had never been badly hurt, despite all the danger he was put in constantly. He'd never even had a broken bone—the worst injury he'd ever suffered was a sprain, unlike Dean and John, who had known much worse. He had survived five years of hunting with that luck.

 

So it was really no surprise that it finally gave out.

 

The job their father had found wasn't a difficult one—just a grave-robbing corpse-eating monster preying on cemeteries in the next county. It should have only taken a couple of hours.

 

Unfortunately, the Winchesters had failed to factor in how angry demons tend to get when you interrupt dinner.

 

There's really no point in describing the fight—if you've ever seen a John Wayne movie you know how these things work. The only thing really important is that the whole thing ended with Sam being flung head-first into a gravestone.

 

Dean's vision grayed out momentarily when Sam fell, and by the time his eyes cleared the demon was dead at John's hand. Dean didn't even pause to look—just ran to his brother and crouched down, rifle in hand.

 

“Sam?” he asked lowly, reaching out to place a careful hand on his brother's shoulder. His hand brushed over the back of Sam's head, and Dean flinched when it came away soaked. He lifted his hand to eye-level, and into the light of a nearby lamp. Ot took him a moment to process what he was seeing, and then he stumbled back with a gasp, his gun falling from his suddenly-limp hand.

 

“DAD!”

 

Buildings with a hundred floors,

Swinging around revolving doors,

Maybe I don't know where they'll take me,

But I gotta keep moving on, moving on.

Fly away,

Break away.

 

The ambulance seemed to take years to arrive, and after they finally got Sam loaded in, the ride seemed interminable. Of course, that could have been because Dean had to ride in the truck instead of riding with Sam—father's orders.

 

It was a miracle that he even made it to the hospital without crashing, he was so distracted. By the time he reached the hospital he could barely think straight at all. He must have broken every street law known to man, and later he couldn't even remember where he left the truck. All of it was insignificant, anyway.

 

He found John quickly—all he had to do was follow the bellows. At the nurse's station, a poor, innocent woman had evidently lost a bet and was trying to get John to fill out the required forms, and the man had evidently wasted no time in, shall we say, “sharing his feelings.”

 

Dean sighed heavily—he was not in the mood for this. “Will you just fill out this crap so they can tell us how Sammy is?” he snapped, coming up behind his dad. “Either that or I'll take care of it, but for the love of all that's holy, just let them do their job and help him, okay?”

 

He rarely used that tone with his father, but it usually produced results when he did. This time was no different, and John grumpily filled out the forms, to the immense relief of the poor nurse.

 

And then he and John sat down to wait.

 

I'll spread my wings and I'll learn how to fly,

Though it's not easy to tell you goodbye.

I gotta take a risk,

Take a chance,

Make a change,

And break away.

 

Dean had no clue what time it was when the doctor came into the waiting room at last. He didn't really care, either. Nothing really mattered right now except what was going on behind those damned doors with those damned EMPLOYEES ONLY signs on them.

 

And then the doctor came out, and by the time he'd said his piece, Dean almost wished he was still in the dark.

 

“Took you long enough,” John snapped as soon as he saw the doc. “You'd better have some good news for me.”

 

Doc seemed unperturbed by his tone—it was plain that he'd faced angry parents before. “Your son suffered an extreme impact directly to the skull. He has a massive concussion, and is in a deep coma—”

 

“Is he gonna be okay?” Dean interrupted, already fed up with the droning and wanting to get to what he considered the point.

 

Doc turned to him. “You have to understand that it's a miracle he's alive at all…”

 

“Is he gonna be all right?” Dean asked again, quietly.

 

The doctor sighed heavily, looking truly sad, and Dean's heart dropped down into his shoes. “He's not likely to come out of it. And if he does…there's no guarantee that he'll be undamaged.” And then those words came out of his mouth…the words every doctor says at times like these, the words that Dean had prayed every night that he would never have to hear. “I'm sorry…for your loss.”

 

Out of the darkness and into the sun,

But I won't forget the place I come from.

I gotta take a risk,

Take a chance,

Make a change.

 

Ten Years Later

 

There are many theories on what life is really all about. They are colorful and varied, but it's a fact that life is all about change. Sometimes it's painful, and sometimes it's beautiful, but most of the time it's both. (AN: I got that from Smallville, the philosophy is in no way my own.)

 

Things have changed so much, Dean Winchester thought idly, his eyes fastened on the huge, well-lit Christmas tree across the living room, and listening to the happy chatter from the kitchen, and feeling a sudden upwelling of emotion. He felt that a lot nowadays, and he had learned to just go along with it. So much…

 

—Flashback—

 

“His blood is still on my hands…” Dean murmured, staring at his open palms.

 

“What?” John asked, coming suddenly out of his thoughts.

 

“Sam. Back in the graveyard, when I touched him…I never thought to wash them.”

 

John nodded hollowly, and went back to staring at the waiting room wall.

 

“He's always hated hunting, you know.” Dean didn't know where the words came from, but once they were out he didn't regret them.

 

For a moment, john didn't seem to understand. “What are you talking about?”

 

“He's been wanting to quit. He told me…earlier tonight.” God, was it really only a few hours ago? “He told me…he'd like to go to college. To law school. I don't know how he planned to do it, but…”

 

“Hold on. Just…back up a second. That can't be right…Sam's never even hinted that—”

 

Dean rolled his eyes, his anger rising. “Oh, come on, man, if you knew him at all you'd know that's not true. I've seen it for…a long time.”

 

“If you're telling me that I don't know my own son, then you are way out of line, Dean. And I don't like—”

 

“He shuts down, Dad,” Dean interrupted, no longer caring about his “tone.” “Every single hunt. I've watched him fight, and his face goes…blank. It's like he has no feelings at all when we fight…like he sends his mind off somewhere else the whole time. And I don't like sounding completely Freudian, but…I think it's a sort of defense mechanism. To help him deal, maybe. I don't want him to have to do that anymore.”

 

“You're reading way too much into this, Dean. Your brother is just exhibiting typical teen behavior. You skipped over it, but I guess I couldn't get that lucky twice.”

 

Dean's fury was suddenly at a full boil, hot and burning in his chest, filling him up, and it had words flying out of his mouth before he'd even wrapped his mind around them. “Don't try to write this off. The fact is, this is not normal teen stuff! That would mean that Sam was actually normal, which, by the way, he isn't. He can't be. It's the one thing he wants most in the world and he can't have it. But the thing is…I think he's begun to go…further with this whole emotional stone thing.”

 

“Stop analyzing your brother's behavior. It's…”

 

“He is going to shut himself off,” Dean said, placing careful emphasis on each word. “Completely.” I'm talking about no feelings at all. He'll quit on us. And…I'm worried that eventually he could reach the breaking point.”

 

John snorted. “Don't be so dramatic. Sammy's not gonna kill himself—”

 

“But that's just it!” Dean said, loudly enough to draw looks. “He's not gonna have to!”

 

“What—”

 

“Think about it! When was the last time you saw Sam slip up like he did tonight?”

 

John's eyes widened slightly at what his older son was implying.

 

“He is dying, Dad,” Dean said. “Right now. He's dying, and it's completely up to him whether he comes back or not. And all he has to do is stop wanting it, and he'll be gone. And right now…I don't think he wants to come back.”

 

John couldn't seem to think of anything to say, but Dean's thoughts were too stirred up for him to care, because for the first time…he himself was regretting his life as a hunter. For the first time, he was seeing something about himself…something that made him truly, deeply uncomfortable.

 

He had known, for a long time, that Sam was unhappy and lonely and depressed. But he had chosen to brush it off, and hope it would just go away. Instead of trying to help Sam he had pushed the problem away.

 

In short, he was becoming his father. Or at least developing all the negative qualities. And he was sorry for it.

 

And I can't even tell Sam.

 

But there was something he could do, and he could do it right now.

 

“Dad, if Sam dies—”

 

“Your brother is not going to—”

 

“If Sam dies,” Dean pressed on, “I'm walking. If Sam dies, or is anything other than himself when he wakes up…I'm done hunting.”

 

—End Flashback—

 

“Dean, sweetie, dinner will be ready soon.”

 

Dean shook himself out of his thoughts and looked over at the kitchen doorway. He smiled. “Layla…yeah, okay. Need any help?”

 

Layla shook her head. “Nope. You're busy, and Mary's helping me.”

 

Dean watched as she left, and as always, he couldn't help but think how perfect she was. And how miraculous, considering that she shouldn't have been alive at all. Given six months to live, and here she was, married with a seven-year-old girl and a second kid to come.

 

Could things have taken any more of a turn?

 

Dean started when the bell rang. For a second, he wondered who it could possibly be, and then a thought struck him and he suddenly couldn't get to the door fast enough.

 

The second he reached it, he flung it open and, after staring for a moment, grinned and reached out to pull his brother into a bear hug. “Sammy, what the hell…?”

 

Laughing, Sam hugged him back. “Yeah, good to see you too.”

 

“What're you doing here?” Dean demanded, letting him go. “I thought you couldn't get off this year.”

 

“Well, I made time.”

 

“Aww, did you miss me, Sammy?”

 

“For the love of God, Dean, I'm twenty-seven years old! It's SAM!”

 

“And a truly mature guy wouldn't pitch such a fit over his name.”

 

“Oh, my God! Sam! Honey, Uncle Sam's here!”

 

Dean snorted with laugher---that Uncle Sam thing never stopped being funny. Sam glared at him, but his attention was diverted when a small blonde bundle of energy leapt at him and he was forced to snatch her right out of the air or suffer a highly-damaging collision. “Mary! Hey! Wow, you got so big!”

 

“It's only been six months,” Mary reminded him, sounding so dignified that Dean had to laugh again.

 

“Yeah, six long months,” Layla said, coming over much more slowly. “We missed you around here, Sam. And your brother is insufferable without you to keep him in check.”

 

“I missed you guys, too,” Sam said, shifting Mary over to one hip so he could hug her. “Wow, you're huge…OW!”

 

“Yeah…that was really, really, really stupid, Sammy.”

 

Sam shook out his tingling arm, wincing. “Yeah, I got that. Sorry. I didn't mean to offend…”

 

“She's seven and a half months pregnant. Everything offends her…OW!”

 

“Now you can match,” Layla snapped irritably. “You two catch up. I'm gonna go cook things.”

 

“So…have you found out what it is?” Sam asked, watching Mary follow her mother out of the room.

 

“Yeah. Boy.”

 

“Name?”

 

Dean shrugged. “Layla gets to pick this time, since I named Mary. Of course, at the rate she's going the kid's gonna be a dad himself before he has a name.”

 

“Oh, man, you're even more in love with her than you were six months ago,” Sam said, smiling.

 

Dean looked at him out of the corner of his eye, then chuckled. “Shut up. Or better yet, bore me with stories about the new lawyer gig.”

 

“Like I always say when you call, it's not a gig. It's a really good, high-paying, full-time job and if you're tempted to call it a gig again remember that I'm still licensed to carry a gun.”

 

“Are you gonna tell me anything about it or are you just gonna whine?”

 

So, Sam began to talk, and as Dean leaned back on the couch to listen, his mind once again pulled up the memories of ten years before, like it always did when he saw Sam.

 

And whenever that happened, he always went back to one moment—the moment only minutes after he'd dropped the bomb on his dad, when Sam flatlined. And he knew exactly why he always went back to that second. It was because that was the point that he decided to quit.

 

Sure, Sam came back—he came back for Dean, there was no way to argue about that—and soon after that he woke up, and was normal, defying all laws of science. But he had died. He had been dead for almost five minutes. And that was the limit. That was the limit, and after that his live would change drastically, and forever.

 

Sam's voice continued to wash over him, and he was content. And soon, John Winchester was due to call, as he did every holiday he couldn't get to Dean's home, and Dean's contentment would be complete.

 

It's so weird…things started out so badly…and now here we are in a freakin' Norman Rockwell painting.

 

Yep, it's interesting…the way life runs sometimes.

 

And break away.

Break away.

Break away.

 

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AN: First of all, I'm sorry for the corniness. I really am. I didn't even notice how corny it was until I was typing it up. And second of all, yes, there are a lot of holes in this fic, and yes, they were intentional.

 

Oh, and also, a note for Shadowbright, if she decides to read this fic: I haven't come up with another Yu Yu fic yet, but if you've read FAKE, you might like to know that I've come up with a FAKE/Supernatural crossover, and this time there will be actual attention paid to the shounen-ai couple, I promise. Just thought you might like to know.

 

And I think that's it for the notes, except…I BEG OF THEE TO REVIEW!

 

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“Life isn't about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself.” --Unknown

 

“You can want things to happen or you can make things happen.” -Unknown