Supernatural Fan Fiction ❯ Zhai'helleva, Ashke ❯ Crashing Down to Earth ( Chapter 3 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Chapter 3

You sit there in my shadow,

And you call if your relief.

Don't be the one with bad eyes for

The things that I could see.

Don't give me that.

“So…you left your family? Just like that?”

Sam answered cautiously—she didn't seem homicidal, but it was possible that an explosion was imminent.

“Well…yeah. I guess.”

Jessica nodded slowly, picking up her cup of coffee and gulping it down, and Sam still couldn't figure out what she was thinking. She was drinking scalding black coffee with inhuman speed, but then she'd always had unbelievable caffeine tolerance, so that wasn't necessarily indicative of anything.

Sam sat back in his chair, his hands resting on the table, his eyes hidden behind his hair—a pose that he'd always found particularly effective. He felt a little guilty using such an underhanded trick on Jess, but he figured that after he'd spilled such a story to her—well, he'd told part of the truth—what he could, anyway—he could use all the help he could get.

Jess was quiet for a long time, and every glance Sam chanced showed her staring down into her cup, her finger circling the rim. He judged silence to be the best course, and waited.

“I didn't go to the dance.”

Sam looked up quickly, and caught her in a smile.

The darkness has no armor.

Need protection from the air.

High hopes through time passing,

When I see I want you there.

What happened immediately after involved a lot of talking, a lot of remembering, and a lot of groveling on Sam's part. Now, maybe that groveling wasn't strictly needed, since Sam had already decided that she was the most forgiving soul in the entire universe, but it made him feel better.

They took it slowly at first, because what else could they do? Still, it wasn't long before Sam's roommate Derek—Sam's only friend so far—and Jess's small group took to reacting with varying degrees of shock when one showed up without the other. They hadn't even so much as gone on a real date yet, but apparently that didn't matter, because soon it became absolute fact, common knowledge, that both Sam Winchester and Jessica Moore were “taken.”

If they hadn't been so wrapped up in each other, the clear disappointment on several faces would have been amusing. As it was, though, neither of them noticed that they were breaking hearts campus-wide—which, oddly, only caused an upswing in affection for both of them.

It didn't take long for the thing that everyone predicted did indeed come to pass, and before too much time had passed a new rumor was circulating the campus, telling all and sundry that Sam Winchester and Jessica Moore were “back together.”

I can't believe

You're the one for me.

If it was this easy to find you,

I should be ready for a fall.

Sam soon had friends coming out of his ears—so many friends that he had trouble coordinating his schedule around all of them. He had friends to study with, people who came to him for every kind of help from tutoring to technological issues (though he left the relationship advice up to his more competent girlfriend), and people who came around just to hang out with him.

This last was the thing that shocked Sam to the core. He was used to people needing his help, used to people asking favors of him, but the idea of whole groups of people who simply liked having him around—and who weren't Dean—was absolutely mind-boggling.

So, Sam had friends, and classes, and a future, and someone to share that future with, and it was all incredibly, wonderfully overwhelming.

He allowed himself to enjoy it all, but cautiously, certain that something would come along to take it all away.

Now my wonders rally

Around the person I once was,

Like a bird that I've been helping.

Hope you're healed and strong.

You never know when you might have to fly.

One thing had marred the otherwise perfect bubble that was Sam's new life: his family's continued absence from it.

He'd had virtually no contact with either of them. They would be working the hunt still, naturally, and though Sam knew someone would inform him if anything were ever wrong, it didn't keep him from worrying.

His friends, of course, had no idea of his past. They knew he had a father and a brother somewhere out there, and that they were estranged, but that was all they knew. Sam was content to leave it at that unless someone actually ventured to try placing blame for the family breakup—which his friends did have a tendency to do. These attempts were crushed each and every time by Sam, and soon his very puzzled friends learned not to say anything against the people they thought had left their son and brother behind.

So, Sam hadn't spoken to Dean or John since The Night, and Sam didn't talk to anyone about them, and it basically sucked and all, but that was the way things stood.

Then, around the beginning of Sam's sophomore year, the most momentous occasion in Sam's entire college career came around, and it all started with a simple visit to the bar.

Sam didn't often drink. He had friends who would have been more than glad to buy him a pitcher, but he only took advantage of it on certain occasions. (Although he rather managed to impress his friends when he did. Despite Dean's ruthless mocking, you don't grow up around Bobby Singer without learning to drink at least a little, and that's just facts. He'd never come near Dean's level—didn't want to—but he could hold his own, at least.)

Still, even though this wasn't one of those occasions when Sam was willing to down any alcohol, he still had fun every time he and Jess went out with Derek and their friends, and he had no reason to believe that tonight would be any different—a delusion that wasn't to last very long.

Where will you go after me?
Where will you go after I set you free

And I don't know you from a page in my book,

Though I should?

He was standing up to go get a refill for his soda when he saw his brother.

Dean was on the other side of the bar, and he looked much the same as ever. He was playing darts—not hustling, though, because he was playing too well—and he seemed tense, as if he were aware that something was different. Well, that would make sense, since for the first time in a year the Winchesters were in the same room together, and it seemed that nothing at all had changed in that year.

Only…only something was off, because as Dean lifted another dart and lined up his shot, he only seemed to have one arm. The other was strapped across his chest in a sling, and Sam saw red.

In the next five seconds he'd made an excuse to tonight's surprisingly small group and was slipping through the crowd to join the people watching Dean play.

For a moment, he simply watched and felt proud that this smooth, calm, cool guy was his brother. He'd been feeling that pride for so long now that he doubted it would ever go away, no matter how old or mature he got.

But then Dean finished up his game and turned around, and their eyes met, and reality came crashing back.

It was rather gratifying when Dean actually showed a reaction. His eyes widened slightly, and he seemed to be fighting to keep his mouth closed. Something flickered across his face before his expression closed down altogether.

Sam's heart sank until Dean's head made a jerking motion toward the door. He puzzled it out for a moment, then nodded to show he understood and began winding his way back to his friends.

“Hey, guys, I've gotta go,” he said abruptly upon reaching the table.

“It's barely eight, man!” Derek said. “You're not scheduled to do the recluse thing for another couple of hours, at least.”

Sam grinned, acknowledging the hit. “Yeah, I know, but I promised this guy in my government class I'd help him out,” he lied smoothly. “He's meeting me at the library.”

“Dude,” Jess's friend Andres said. “How many people're you tutoring?”

Sam shrugged.

“I'll go with you,” Jess said, and with one look Sam knew she wasn't buying. She's seen Dean.

Damn.

Sam shoved the smile back on his face and shook his head. “Nah, that's okay. Someone has to be around to drive these guys home when they can't stand up anymore.” When she merely frowned, he leaned over and kissed her, using the move to whisper, “Come to my dorm later. I'll explain it, I swear.”

He didn't wait to see if she'd respond before he left.

Dean was waiting outside, and the first words out of Sam's mouth were, “Dean, what the hell happened to you?”

Dean looked puzzled for a second, then looked down and said, “Oh. It's nothin', Sammy. Poltergeist in New Jersey a couple weeks ago.”

Sam glared at him. “Idiot. Where's Dad?”

“Uh…Montana. I think.”

“He's not with you?”

“Nah, we're supposed to meet in Sharpsburg next week. I'm supposed to be recouping before I go.”

“So you drove yourself here—with a broken arm—and Dad has no idea.”

“What're you gonna do, tell on me?” Dean asked flatly, still studying him shrewdly.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Fine. Whatever. Kill yourself. I don't care. What're you doing here?”

Dean didn't even bother answering that one. He just looked, until finally it all clicked into place.

Sam groaned and buried his face in his hands. “No. Not here.”

“`Fraid so, Sammy.”

“What is it?” Sam asked through his fingers.

“Werewolf, I think. I'm pretty sure this general area is its hunting grounds.”

Sam looked up at that. “wait. So you were going to hunt a werewolf with one arm?”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah, why not?”

“Why not? Are you serious? You could've been killed!”

“And suddenly you care.”

Sam's head snapped up at that, and suddenly all the calm that Dean had been exhibiting at this for-lack-of-a-better-word-reunion was gone. He looked angry, and worried, and sad, all at the same time.

Well, Sam could play that game, too.

“Something you wanna say to me?”

Dean smirked, only there wasn't any of the usual humor around it. “Nah.”

“No, I think there is. Why don't you go ahead and—”

“Shut up, Sammy.”

Sam went silent, knowing instantly that Dean really did mean “Shut up” rather than “Fine, let's fight.”

As soon as he had, he realized what Dean had heard.

Scratching, padding steps, growling.

Wolfie was paying a call.

I can't believe

You're the one for me.

If it was this easy to find you,

I should be ready for a fall.

For the first time in a year, Sam found himself fighting at his brother's side, and he was interested to find that their rhythm wasn't off at all. He could still run as fast as ever, and he put the fact to immediate use by outstripping Dean, finding the Impala, and tearing the trunk open to get a gun into his hands, all within about fifteen or thirty seconds.

Still, by the time he'd returned to his brother, Dean was down.

He didn't seem bitten or scratched—there was no blood, and he was moving, struggling to throw the thing from him, howling in pain and anger as the weight fell on his broken arm time and again—and so Sam was able to move past his panic enough to take in the situation. He couldn't shoot, because he had too much of a chance of hitting Dean; he had no way of knowing what kind of bullets were in the gun anyway; and Dean's gun was lying on the ground next to him, just out of reach.

So he did the only thing a guy in his situation could do.

He threw his own gun at the thing and shouted as loud as he could.

Now, not much can actually hurt a gull-grown werewolf, but bashing it in the head with a rifle will still get its attention—quite successfully, actually.

Sam realized that he may not have entirely thought this one through when the thing came barreling at him—with inhuman speed, of course, since it wasn't human. He hadn't actually decided what he would do when he'd diverted the thing, so he followed his instincts: he dodged.

Unfortunately, dodging a werewolf is about as useful as poking it in the eye.

It took Sam several interminable moments to roll his way out from under the wolf, but as soon as he did he dove for Dean's gun, scrabbling for it, not finding it, getting more desperate and angry because where could the thing have gone and God, why couldn't things ever be simple?!

“Sam, drop!”

Sam did, instantly, and there was a shot and a thump and a whimper, and then silence except for Dean's heavy breathing, and his own.

And…a girl's voice?

Saying his name?

And sounding…terrified?

Horrified, Sam rolled over and leapt to his feet, his eyes sweeping Dean for injury before jumping to the doorway of the bar.

Jess was standing there, her eyes wide as saucers, her mouth open, looking uncomprehendingly at him, as if she couldn't understand what she was seeing.

Sam reached for her, unsure of what he was going to do, but desperate to do something all the same.

Jess jerked away, still staring, and took a step back.

Then she ran.

Where will you go after me?

Where will you go after I set you free

And I don't know you from a page in my book

Though I should?

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Author's Note: See? It was longer AND more involved! And Dean was there! I delivered! claps hands So. Reviews are life. Help me live! Please?