an/ I don't know if I can describe how much I hate the genre selections. They do nothing to satisfy me.
Aside from that- I just have been hankering for some Samifer lately and thought that I should contribute to the pile. Have some. We can share.
His big brother's smile was a dangerous thing which spoke volumes to Sam. It meant he was leaving him behind to fend for himself against the perils of the high school dance. It meant that the giggling blonde cheerleader in her lime green party dress, hanging off Dean's arm would be tonight's conquest. It meant that Dean wanted Sam to get himself safely back to the house off Mullan road that they were squatting in, because Dean would be taking the Impala with him and Malibu Barbie.
That smile was Dean's way of asking if Sam would be ok on his own, just for tonight. Asking if Sam would rat him out to John for leaving him unsupervised.
Sam rolled his eyes, which was his way of saying that he thought Dean was a mess who hadn't been able to control himself around high school cheerleaders since he was in high school himself- and Sam was disappointed in him. But he also smiled and shrugged, which was his way of telling Dean to take off. Sam was almost seventeen and he didn't need his brother taking care of him anymore- despite their Dad's insistence. He had been taller than Dean for almost a year and taller than their Dad for months. He had finally grown into the promise of his overly large hands and feet, even if his shoulders hadn't caught up yet. Sam was an awkward mess of limbs and elbows that could walk himself the five miles from the school gym back to the house.
They had only been in Mobile Alabama for two weeks, not long enough for Sam to really make friends- besides, it was mid May and school would be out soon. People hadn't really been interested in letting the enormous new kid into their close circles of friends. That was ok with him. As soon as John got back from his hunt out in Bayou La Bartre the Winchesters would be off again. Sam had learned years ago to not bother getting too attached.
In all honesty he wasn't sure why he had bothered going to the end of the year dance in the first place- except that Dean had somehow talked him into it. Watching his brother leave with an arm around the trim waist of someone who was probably named Bambi, or Violet or Sugar- Sam had his suspicion of why they had come out here.
Sometimes he thought that he might hate his brother.
He was almost positive that you could still love someone and hate them at the same time.
Feelings were complicated like that, and had only gotten more so the older he got.
That day had been warm, sultry southern air like someone had left the heater running. The night wasn't much better, except that the humidity had jumped from fifty to about a hundred. It was hot and it was dark and it was raining… and Sam was walking home.
It was ok with him. The house they were squatting in didn't really have a working shower. It had been abandoned sometime in the seventies, built long before the turn of the century, and all it had was an old copper tub with a faucet that ran cloudy water that tasted like minerals and earth.
Sam was getting the first good shower he had had since coming to Alabama.
Maybe he would thank Dean tomorrow morning when his brother slunk in like an alley cat, with that damned smile of his and delicate little bruises on his neck.
Five miles wasn't far, especially not for a kid like Sam, who could easily run the distance without having to take a break- but going off the main street, down a muddy lane that had long been abandoned, away from yellowed electric street lights, into the dark- it was a little different. He was walking cautious, wary of pot holes and rocks that were all but invisible in the darkness.
About a mile and a half in, his boots heavy with the red mud that seemed to cover everything out here, the gentle shower upped the ante to a full blown storm. It felt like drowning on dry land, and Sam was blinking water from his eyes, looking for a good tree or something to hide under.
He must have wandered onto a side street in the dark, because he came across something better than a sturdy tree, something he knew wasn't on the way to his temporary home. He found an old church, its little windows lit faintly against the sheets of water battering the white washed walls like a siege. Someone was home- and if years of following his dad and brother from hunting one nightmare to the next, had taught Sam anything, it was that churches were a spectacular place to find refuge.
As long as you didn't tell the priests what you were hiding from.
That tended to include a police phone call and all kinds of unhelpful allegations of being on drugs.
But Sam was running from a storm this time, not a demon, and the night was looking up again.
"Hello?" He shook the door handles, and felt a moment of doubt when they didn't give under his battering. Maybe the lights were on a timer, or just left on for security… "Is there anyone home?" He wasn't really against breaking into a church. It wouldn't be for anything nefarious. Just hiding until the rain let up.
No one answered his shouts.
He didn't have his lock pick tools with him (not normal things to take to a school dance after all), and it was a bit too dark to see well enough to jimmy the lock. He could break a window… but that felt a bit like blasphemy.
So- lock it was. He would just do it blind.
Dean would be proud.
He pulled out his boot knife and slipped it into the seam between the doors. The lock was old, he might be able to push the bolt back like people did with credit cards in movies.
The door cracked open about the time that the mud and water had reached the tops of Sam's boots and his ass. He was crouched down, trying to level himself with the lock, get some leverage on the oddly sturdy and stubborn bit of metal. The click of tumblers was a reassuring, solid noise. "Thank you." He sighed in relief.
"You're welcome."
Sam looked up, eyes wide in surprise. He hadn't expected an answer. But it wasn't the door that had spoken, it was the blonde man on the other side of the door, looking down at him with a curious expression.
"Oh," He quickly stood, smiling the smile that always got him off the hook with Dean, praying now that it would get the stranger to overlook the knife naked in his hand and his obvious breaking and entering. "Hi." Sweet innocent Sammy here- nothing to worry about. He tucked the knife away and looked the man almost dead in the eye. He was a bit shorter than Sam, about Dean's height, about Dean's age too, by the looks of it. So, early twenties then, short blonde hair, ratty jeans, black tshirt, visible tattoos on his arms- he wasn't a priest whoever he was.
"Nice night for a swim." He said, no hint of a southern drawl in his soft, sarcastic tone. Not a priest, not from around here, and not letting Sam in the doors.
Sam pushed his wet hair back from his face, blinking wildly, smiling a little more gently, pulling out all his best tricks. "It's not really what I had in mind when I started walking home. I think I got lost."
"Well, this is a church." He smiled back for just a moment, his pale blue eyes sparking like an arsonist's dream, and Sam felt taken aback at what an odd thought that was. "It's a good place for lost people I suppose." He stepped back, making room for Sam, and inadvertently a gusting downpour of rain that puddle in the entry way.
Sam came in with the wind and rain, dripping even more water in his wake. "Thanks." His smile twisted to a grin, even if it wasn't returned.
"It's really coming down out there. You're welcome to stay until it lets up." The man crossed his arms over his chest, the muscles in his arms tensing just a little. He looked marvelously humorless, but equally unthreatening and Sam felt himself relaxing as much as anyone could in mud filled boots and wet jeans.
"I'm sorry if I woke you or something." Awkward small talk was awkward. "I'm Sam." He held out his hand to shake, just like his dad had always taught him too.
"Nick." He took Sam's hand into a firm, but oddly cold handshake, like he wasn't part of the muggy heat that seemingly covered this whole state. "I'm the caretaker here."
And that made a bit of sense. The building didn't exactly look abandoned, in fact, the inside was fairly cozy as churches went- so maybe Nick was who he said he was. Sam would give him the benefit of a doubt- but he would give the same to about anyone who saved him from drowning out there in the rain.
"You wanna take your boots off and leave 'em by the door? I'll go get you something dry to wear." No other preamble, just calm, even instructions and off he walked out of the foyer and down one of the little side halls witch either lead to the sanctuary or the priest's quarters.
Sam did as he was told- he couldn't help it. It was just how he was raised. "It's a nice place you got here." He sighed and managed to untangle his laces, sliding out of his muddy boots and slightly less muddy socks. Dean was the one well practiced in small talk. Sam was still an apprentice.
Nick came back down the hall, jeans, shirt and, towel under an arm. His pale eyes took in Sam standing beside his muddy shoes, his wet clothes plastered to his lanky frame.
"Did you roll or walk your way down into the valley, Sammy?" He didn't offer the clothes he held.
Sam winced at the nickname that he had been trying desperately to shake off for years. "It's Sam. Just Sam." He pushed his wet hair from his eyes again. "I was walking from the school-"
"That's nearly six miles from here." Nick handed over the towel first.
"Really?" He held the towel awkwardly for a moment before pulling it over his head and trying to squeeze what water he could from his dripping hair. "Then I'm a lot more lost than I thought."
He caught a glimpse between the folds of the towel and saw Nick smiling at him, an odd little smile that looked vaguely predatory for the smallest of moments before opening up and reaching his eyes. It sent all the air rushing out of Sam's chest and drew out a curious, curling warmth low in his stomach- and he smiled back like he couldn't help himself.
Sam had no idea how lost he really was.