This story was originally written for the Summer of Sam love 2010 celebration over at lj, this fic is set right after the episode 1x03 ...
After Jess's death Sam's struggles with himself and his regained hunter life. He has troubles sleeping, Dean, and people he couldn't save to face. So if you enjoy a little Season One-Sam suffering read right on
Disclaimer:
Sam's not mine, he's Dean's and Dean's alone, and hey Dean has guns and knifes and boy, you so don't wanna mess with him. Now go figure out to whom Dean belongs ...
Spoilers: Season 1 and ref to 5x20
Rating: PG, I'd say, like the show's, some not naughty nudity ahead
6,025 words
UNDERTOW
A Supernatural Fan Fiction
Aug 15 2010
Sam's twisting around in cold sheets, surrounded by a world drenched in blue; sulfur is filling his nostrils, stinging in his eyes, his body is itching and the sheets are being torn away, leaving him unprotected, leaving him to burn.
Dean's face above his, he's being pulled up, then Dean's gone and smurfs are walking past Sam who's now kneeling on the ground. He hears Dean's voice, he sees Dean hunting, he sees Dean getting out his glock, the black shadow falling upon -
"JESS - "
The gun's flying out of Dean's hand, and Sam has to get out, Sam pulls the trigger, and Sam knows he & Dean both have to get out.
But Dean's not listening to him, Dean wants to find Dad, and Dad is sitting in a cabin drinking with Jim, Jack and José.
Sam turns around and -
"DEAN - "
- pulls the trigger once again.
The bullet hits the ball of smurfs, and smurf chick hits the floor, and maybe Sam thinks smurf chicks' boyfriend is called Sam.
Smoke and piercing blue light are filling Sam's vision, his eyes are trying to see, the only thing they do though is cry.
Sam's looking up -
Where did Dean go?
- the ceiling is dark and he relaxes, Dad is just out with a few buddies hunting deer, they got wasted, no big deal, everything's normal, Sam's normal.
LIAR ... SAM IS A LIAR ... and Jessica knows it ...
A stranger's voice, echoing hard in Sam's head, hard enough to make the ceiling collapse, blue flames dancing in the air, encircling Jessica ...
"JESS - "
Sam clamps a hand over his mouth, doesn't want Dean to -
"Sahmnn?"
(damn it)
"I'm fine - "
(LIAR ... SAM IS A LIAR ... and Dean knows it)
Sam gets out of bed, slowly, with trained awareness, the neon orange of the motel's name illuminating the room, one of the letters, unrecognizable to Sam, putting a weird shape on Dean's still form. For a moment Sam is thinking about poking him, checking if he went back to sleep, but Sam decides against it, after all it could wake Dean up.
Four years ago Dean wasn't sleeping, poking or no poking; four years ago Sam went to California, left his brother behind in a derelict house next to a deserted road. Free of Dad he walked through the rain, because moments like this apparently only come with rain; knife stuffed in the back of his jeans, cool metal on his bare skin. One of Dad's .45s in his duffel bag, banging heavy against his legs. Headlights hit him, a pick-up stopped a few feet before him, and a bearded head popped out of the window - still attached to its owner's body, though Sam wasn't sure of that at first, the head was big, the neck shadowed and the window half-gone.
"Need a right, kid?"
"Yeah ... actually I do," Sam said running towards the car, a controlled look at the loading space - no monsters, no Dad there. The noise of the humming motor got stronger in his ears as he leaned onto the shattered passenger window, the remaining glass shards putting a sharp pressure on his arm, digging through three layers of cotton.
"I'm headin' to Nevada," bearded head said.
Sam nodded and got in as bearded head put in a gear, chewed on his gum and spit out of the driver's window. Some six hundred miles ahead of them, Sam smiled, that fresh feeling of freedom tickling his stomach, knowing that he would be just Sam Winchester now, not Dad's soldier, not
Dean's kid brother, just Sam Winchester.
Bearded head bend down to the glove department, taking out some piece of clothing.
"Here get yourself cleaned up, don want ya catchin' somethin'."
"Thanks," Sam said, quietly, grabbing whatever dirty cloth it was.
"Sure - name's Bob Taylor by the way."
"Nice to meet ya, I guess." Sam gave bearded head a half-smile, sweeping up drops of his face.
"Got a name too, boy?" Bearded head looked at Sam, still chewing, and Sam answered with another half-smile.
"Huck Finn."
o ~ o ~ o ~ o
Sam pulls some cash out of his brother's jeans, puts them back down and wipes away the last hints of tears, the only reminder of his nightmare. He tries to bring his thoughts in order, but they won't listen, they go all dada, and he loses the ability to spell words. Maybe he never had it, what was normal for everyone else, what came easy to everyone else felt always like hunting down ten werewolves and sixty-seven ghosts at the same time to him.
Jesicas, Jessica ... Thinking of her makes him tired, like all he wants to do is sleep, all day, all night, but he only gives in to that when Dean isn't looking, because his demons haunt him, turning things over until his mind is sore, until he wakes up screaming.
Some days he wakes up, thinking it'll be okay, thinking it'll be over, then sunlight hits him through the dirty window, lights up the stains on the walls, on the carpet, on his soul, then he aches, throws up, and leaves, relieved that somebody else will clean up his mess; then he waits, for the night, for the demon, for hell to open up.
Nothing of it ever happens. One day of too bright darkness follows the next - find hunt, kill bad guy, don't wake Dean up, put on shoes, don't turn on light when leaving for night.
Sam's out of the door within two minutes, ten minutes later artificial light's shining on him and Bon Jovi's Runaway is playing in the background, taking up the whole of him. He gives the gas station dude twenty bucks, or fifty; there's dried blood on the bill. Last night's poker game didn't go so well for Dean, it was an ER night for the other two guys. However, gas station dude doesn't care, gives Sam some change and goes back to the newspaper article he was reading before - 214 ways an alien can (AND WILL!) probe you!
Sam snatches some candy bars -
(Dean)
- on his way out and walks over to the freshly fed Impala, sure the word FREAK is plastered all over his face, given the way the blonde woman standing across the street is looking at him. Seems like tonight he can't escape the world. He pulls the zipper of his brown hoodie up, it's November, no December, no November, no - they are in Maine, it's cold and it's raining, a week has past since their last case. A kid, a boy -
(dead in the water)
- was drowning the people he knew -
(felt)
- were responsible for his death, including their families. Two ended up like the kid -
(dead in the water)
- before Sam and Dean arrived, three after, two they could save.
Sucking at math would make one lucky guy now, but Sam Winchester never was lucky.
The Carltons, the sheriff, his memory of them is following him down the empty road, going left, an alley later Sam's back on Main Street in the small town that is Dexter. It's too early -
(about 2:27 AM)
- to go back to the motel. Dean would be there, he would be sleeping, knife or gun or skin mag hidden under the pillow. One wrong creak of the door, of the floor, Sam coughing or laughing, and he would be in for twenty questions.
Better to drive through town aimlessly then, seeing Will Carlton eating a burger under the streetlight he just passed. Could have been a Big Bacon Mac with bacon instead of salad.
(Dean would approve)
Another turn, Main Street is short or Dexter too big or maybe the town did grow while Sam was not sleeping.
Rain, more intense with every mile, more intense with every deep puddle the tires of the Impala are splashing through. She and Sam are on a rural road now, in their thirtiest mile, on their way out of town. The vibrations of the motor soothing on Sam's weary body until he's getting back at sunrise, getting back into action, fit for the next hunt - except he isn't back into the hunting life yet.
(and Dean knows it)
More miles, more rain. Sam's speeding. The road is straight, he is alone, he can breathe without choking on his life - the wipers are squeaking, a mess of blurry brown and red pieces on the windshield, then there's mud mud mud and everyone knows where this story is going. Sam ends up on a field, the Impala stuck, and after forty minutes of digging she's still going nowhere.
A sigh would be appropriate now, of annoyance because hey he's stuck or of relief because hey, he didn't hit the nearby lake, but Sam gets distracted by sirens and flashing lights coming his way. Yeah, Dean is so going to kick his ass.
o ~ o ~ o ~ o
Sam puts the shovel back into the trunk, letting the fake bottom, the lid fall down, hiding the guns, the knifes, the stolen coroner reports from view. Three police cars, an ambulance and two station wagons are passing him, neither of them is coming to a hold.
Finally Sam lets out a sigh of relief and gets his cell phone out of his pocket. He's wet and cold, mud's sticking to him and he doesn't want to call Dean. The display pops open with a bling, showing him Dean's name and number way too fast. Sam clicks two buttons and it needs five rings until Dean answers, voice muffled.
"Wha-aht?"
"Dean?"
"Yeah - "
"So, uhm, you awake?"
"Sam?"
"Yeah - "
"Look, man -
(annoyed sigh)
- it's like what? 3 o'clock in the morning? How 'bout we talk about whatever you wanna talk about after sunrise, like way after, okay? Just go back to bed - "
" - "
A fourth police car is passing him by, no sirens this time, and Sam makes a mental note to check it out later. Later, because his stupid brother just hung up on him, and Sam is standing in the middle of a muddy field with the car all stuck and his sneakers full of water.
His cell phone rings and Sam presses the accept call-button with the second ring, the display's light blue on his skin.
"Dean!"
"Sammy - "
"Yeah - "
"You're not in your bed, your laptop's making frickin' bling-y noises, and the car is gone!"
"I know," Sam says barely audible and puts his free hand in his pocket while staring down, feeling like a five year old being caught with Daddy's knife collection.
"I'm waiting," Dean says, his cell phone-voice thrown between concern and anger.
"Look, man -
(annoyed sigh)
- can you just come and get me?"
o ~ o ~ o ~ o
Dean arrives about an hour later, missing the lake by three yards, and now as he gets out of the stolen car, he's wearing a grim expression, hair sticking to his head almost immediately; rain really is a theme for the Dexter area.
"Oh man, you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine." Sam's voice husky, deeper than usual, and for a moment Dean thinks whether the idiot was standing outside in the crappy weather all the time instead of waiting in the car, but the car -
"'M not talking to you," Dean says, kneeling down behind the Impala, checking how deep her tires are stuck. "Poor baby."
"Dean - "
"What?" Dean snaps, standing up, arms crossing his chest. "Don't tell me to hurry or something, you got yourself into this mess - "
"Probably'll take a tow truck to get me out of it - "
"So not funny, Sam."
"Dude ... "
"Yeah?"
"You kinda stole one, don't ya think we should, I don't know, drag the car out?"
"Not before I checked if she's okay."
Dean walks past Sam -
"Are you okay, Sammy?"
- booted feet leaving deep prints in the mud.
"Yeah," Sam says turning around, hands in pockets, following Dean's lead, a lifetime's job.
"You said something hit the windshield?"
"Hmmmuh - "
"Sammy there's nothing there ... just mud and ... a twig I think."
"But there ... "
"Yeah?"
"Could have sworn a burger fell on the windshield, and, well, I, I think it was, I think Will Carlton threw it."
"Come again?"
"I know how that sounds."
"Nuts?"
Dean lets one of his index fingers slide through the slimy residue on the glass and sniffs on it.
"At least it smells like burger, rotten burger, ugh."
"I don't know, man."
Sam runs a hand over his face, the other gliding over the dirty windshield.
"Maybe I just nodded off - "
"And dreamed of Will Carlton throwing a burger at you?"
Sam shrugs, looks at Dean with big eyes.
"Sam - " Dean's voice a tired sound in the cold night. "What were you thinking anyways? Driving around in that weather, in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere, all exhausted and whatnot."
Sam's eyes are getting bigger, a too well-known plea in them.
"Sammy - " Dean repeats Sam's earlier gesture, running one hand over his face. "Let's free the car."
o ~ o ~ o ~ o
So he's on the road again, together with Dean, feels like Sam's been there all along, alone with Dean on the road, not with his girlfriend, his friends in Stanford, was Standford even ever real?
Sam and Dean left the tow truck on the field, heading north-west now, following the tracks the caravan of cars has left. As soon as Sam mentioned the police invasion towards Dean he wanted to check it out, wanted to leave Sam in the car, there was no discussion about it then, there is no discussion about it now that they reached the suspected crime scene.
"Listen, Sammy," Dean says.
"Just ... wait here, okay?"
"Sure."
Sam's wrapped up into himself, he's not going to be a hero this time around -
(what else is new?)
- he's just a guy in clamp clothes, sitting in the passenger seat of a classic car under a full moon, surrounded by woods and blinding headlights.
"You look like a ghost, dude." Dean takes one of his fake IDs out of the hidden ashtray. "Just wanna make sure no one's getting out his shotgun and gives you a nice salt burn." He laughs, steps out of the car and goes subterfugeing someone.
Sam turns, wants to look after Dean, but a headlight gets into his way, reflecting harshly in the window panes, presenting Sam to everyone outside. He blinks, pulls his arms tighter around his upper body and looks down, at his shoes, at the floor of the Impala. Dean's worrying about him, Sam knows that much; knows that Dean thinks Sam's gonna leave him once they found the demon -
(no, revenge)
- once they got revenge -
(no, Dad)
- once they found Dad.
Sam would go back into the world, the real world then, leaving Dean behind -
(where did Dean go?)
The driver's door gives a squeak -
" - don't run away - "
- simultaneously with the rocking of the car as Dean gets in.
"What?"
Sam's head pops up, his face all screwed up, looking irritatingly at Dean.
"I said, parents should've better given their kids the don't run away-speech more then once."
"Why?"
"Group of high schools kids found a dead guy, shot himself in the head, at least that's what the police thinks."
"Another victim?"
"Looks like."
"That's what, the fourth?"
"Yeah," Dean says, putting the key in the ignition.
The car stutters to life.
"Ah, that's not good, the motor probably got some damage while you were playing Kerouac."
"You read Kerouac?" Sam raises his eyebrows, looks at Dean with a mix of surprise and a face saying yeah, of course he did, that jerk, I love him; Dean answers with a lop-sided smile and a yeah, of course I did, that bitch, I love him written all over his face.
"So uhm, the kids, they wanted to have some party or something at the old cellulose factory, they called their parents, and Mommy and Daddy called the cops, and the cops called other cops, you get the picture - "
"Yeah, so we got one dead body and a lot of cops without a clue. Same as always then."
"Yeah."
"So, check out dead guy in the morning?"
"Yeah."
Another stutter of the car as they are leaving the blinding headlights behind.
"But first I have to fix this."
"Sorry," Sam says, rummages through the pockets of his hoodie, pulls something out and holds it into Dean's face.
"I got you candy."
"You got ... "
Dean grabs the two chocolate bars, starts to unwrap the first one -
"Sam, they're totally soaked ... I'm gonna eat them later."
o ~ o ~ o ~ o
Back at the motel walls decorated with yellow pineapple tapestry are greeting them. Dean throws his notepad on the desk, next to Sam's glowing laptop, yawns and stumbles over to his bed, mumbling "Get 'self cleaned up."
Sam doesn't. He's smelly, his clothes stick to him as sticky smelly clothes do, and he really needs a shower right now, but there are other things he has to do first, the glowing laptop being a not to subtle reminder. It turned itself on again after Sam left, announced with several loud blings that the last download has been finished; an older Oasis album Sam lost with Jess. So what's the story morning glory Sam thinks as the first sunbeams cross the motel room.
Two clicks to save and close, then Sam lets himself fall on the chair next to the table, eyes on the screen, sees what he has left open; a website about ancient ghosts and what kind of abilities they could gain throughout their ghost lives, though he still couldn't figure out why the hosts would call it an ancient ghost website, nothing ancient there; Sam closes the page, but bookmarks it for later, and opens his e-mail account.
Four mails listed as new - Sam read them before, found questions in them he doesn't want to answer, but he has to, he just has to, because he is normal and just on a road trip with his big brother, he would go back to the world soon.
He opens the first e-mail, November 28, from Brady -
Hey Sam,
how are you doing?
...
Hey Brady,
I'm fine.
...
November 23, from Rebecca -
Hey Sam,
what are you doing?
...
Hey Bec,
I'm fine.
...
November 16, from Zack -
Hey Sam,
where are you?
...
Hey Zack,
I'm fine.
...
November 1, from Jessica -
Hey Sam,
when are you coming back?
...
Hey Jess,
I'm fine.
...
He presses send, and send, and send, and - send. Normal. Sam exhales, loses his clothes after kicking the chair aside, throws them on his bed and walks over to the bathroom.
The tiled floor is cold and Sam just stands there unmoving between toilet and shower, backlit by the intruding soft sunlight, turning him into another shadow in the otherwise dark bathroom. Sam turns to the washbowl, fingers on the plastic switch, before closing the door, shutting out Dean's breathing. One of the bulbs, the one on the ceiling burned out last night, so the only light is coming from the smaller one over the sink.
The water is freezing, the shower is quick, Sam's not even fully clean as he jumps out again, back on the cold floor, the last light bulb frizzing out. It's quiet, water is dropping from Sam's skin, the dripping on the tiles the only sound. Another frizzing, electricity is back, not in the light bulb though, but in Sam, and Sam's screaming, his mouth foaming, his limbs jerking, an icy hand on his chest, I know you, Sam's brain wants to think, I saw you at the gas station. Think again, icy hand replies into the growing silence in Sam's head, she's in him now, goes through him, leaves him in shock, leaves him crashing to the floor, naked skin against greasy tiles.
o ~ o ~ o ~ o
"How long was I out?"
Sam's leaning against the headboard of his bed, blanket pulled tight around his shivering body. He came out of that comfy place of silence and darkness a couple of minutes ago, groaning, with Dean holding him down and a headache the size of Texas.
"Guess not more than five minutes, scared me a bit there, kiddo," Dean says, a half-laugh in his voice, to assure himself, to assure Sam that everything's gonna be okay.
A lie most of the times, but it helps them get by.
"So what happened?"
"You tell me!" Dean leans in closer, eyes hard on Sam, mouth drawn into a thin line. "All I know is that I heard some noise, called your name - Sammy ... "
"Sam - "
"No I yelled Sammy, so just shut up and listen - uhm, you didn't answer, so I went in, found you on the floor, ass all up in the air, which, really adorable by the way; then I checked your pulse and got you to bed."
Sam frees his upper body from the blanket, one arm stretches across the bed, searching for clothes.
"Oh yeah, lemme get 'em for you. Threw them down as I was tuckin' you in." Dean gets off the bed, walks around it and grabs Sam's clothes off the carpet. "Dude, they
like totally mud-soaked, I'll get you clean ones ... so, your part of the story?"
"Hm, yeah, well, got a shock."
"You got a shock? A shock from what? Don't tell me there was a spider in the bathtub and you fainted like some frickin' damsel in distress."
"Course not, Dean."
"At least something."
"There were two spiders."
"Sam - "
"Dean - "
"What did really happen?" Dean says, going through the drawers.
"I told you, I got shocked - "
"Like shocked, like electrocuted?"
"Yeah, but - "
Sam looks at himself, his skin, pale and some darker smeared dirt spots here and there, no bruising, no marks.
"Nothing on you that indicates electrocution."
"Yeah ... " Sam sinks back into the comfort of the pillows, the end of summer came way to fast, the beginning of winter with the death of Jess, skipping a season, showing him his place in life; he's stroking the pillows, tries to wipe away the nightmares drawn on them. Dean a sweet lullaby of false hope in the background -
"Hey - "
Something's hitting Sam and he's up in an instant, turns out Dean has thrown a white shirt and a pair of jeans at him.
"You alright?"
"Yeah, I ... I ... " Sam starts to climb out of bed, taking the jeans with him. "What did you say?"
"Said I already checked you through."
"'Kay ... but ... Dean ... I got electrocuted. I mean, like big time electrocuted."
"OK, so you got some big time electrocution, hey, maybe it was Will Carlton."
"Actually I think it was Sophie Carlton ... and I, I think I saw her earlier at the gas station, and, uhm, Dean, how about some briefs?"
"Hm yeah, about that, we need to do laundry," Dean says walking back towards Sam, holding up a white piece of clothing. "We fresh out of underwear, well, you are, so ... "
Grinning Sam takes the briefs and puts them on. "You know Dean, I heard about people given their last shirt, but this ... "
"Ah, don't flatter me, just get dressed, the sun's already up and the coroner should be in early ... "
"What 'bout doing the damn laundry?"
"How about next town? The case should be over fast with the way you going through Carltons."
"Dean ... "
"Just sayin,' the first three victims got weird stuff going on like a week before they got offed, or offed themselves, depending on your point of view. And I bet when we get a look at the fourth victim's history we'll find some weird stuff too."
"Yeah, I guess ... "
Sam zips up his pants, fastens his belt.
"Dean, you think that whatever it is got a hold on me?"
"Either that or you going nuts ... Which isn't a too nutty thought, hm? With you sneaking out and driving around nowhere's land all night ... "
"So, uhm, laundry ... how about doing it next state we in?"
"That'll be big time laundry then."
"Oh ... "
"Yeah ... "
Sam pouts, puts on his shirt and takes the used flannel one off the floor.
"That sucks."
o ~ o ~ o ~ o
Sam throws his mug filled with stale coffee between the dirty dishes in the small kitchen sink without downing any of it and fills Dean's mug up again. Dean's already out of the door, ready to leave the Pineapple Inn to meet the coroner even before the sun is fully up. A heavy duffel filled with weapons hangs loose over his left shoulder, the motel room key in his hand, as Sam follows him out and hands him the mug.
"Here, put the thing in the trunk," Dean says, giving the bag to Sam; he empties the coffee filled mug at ones, leaves it on the floor in front of their motel room door; then he opens the Impala's hood, bends down to take a closer look inside. "She hasn't caused any trouble since, oh, let me think, yeah, since you drove her into a house."
"Got rid off ghost lady."
Sam closes the trunk, walks to the passenger door, hands in pockets, and leans against the side, watching Dean.
"Found anything yet?"
"Yeah, I think - " Dean grunts, puts his hands deeper in his baby, frisks her down, fingers moving like a surgeons ... Heart, liver, intestines, fan belt -
"Ah, found it." Dean waves a handful of twigs at Sam. "Those suckers were stuck beneath the belt."
"That's it? Twigs?"
"That's it, Sammy. Now get in the car, dead guy isn't waiting all day for us to show up."
o ~ o ~ o ~ o
The overhead lights turn Sam's Texas-sized headache into a China-sized one. He's leaning against the body freezer drawers or whatever they are called, he doesn't really care. All that matters is the hot white light running over his body, making him squint.
" - residue - "
" - clearly a suicide - "
" - sure?"
Cold air is coming from the ventilation shaft, cold and fresh, misplaced and lost between all those dead people.
" - wife - "
" - friends - "
" - noticed something?"
Sam's clearing his throat, straightens himself and nods, but neither Dean nor the coroner, Dr Ballard, seem to have addressed him. So he leans back against the drawers, resting his head against the cool metal, comforting somehow.
" - sayin' - "
" - said - "
" - kept seeing two girls he knew in college - "
Sam pities the guy -
(college)
- pities himself -
(college)
- a world he always dreamed of, now a world painted with tears where demons live.
" - died in a car crash - "
" - he caused - "
(Jess - don't you wanna love me?)
Sam yawns unconsciously, his arms closing in on his chest, the metal drawers becoming a comfortable bed.
" - drunk driving - "
" - manslaughter, got fourteen months - "
" - released after seven - "
A bang on his head and Sam's eyes snap open, he catches himself before he hits the ground, arms rowing helplessly in the air, crashing down eventually, taking a bunch of scalpels, an electrical saw, and glass bottles filled with colourful liquids with them.
Sam turns around himself a couple of times, touching the bump on his head the metal drawers caused, tries to catch surgical instruments that aren't there any more, twists his legs, tries not to slip on the non-toxic chemical liquids spilled all over the floor -
Doesn't help much, he goes down while Dean's saying "Wow - " landing on his butt, looking up at his brother who's just staring at him.
"Are you guys sure you're FBI?" he hears Dr Ballard say. Dr Ballard who's eyeing both of them now, Dean's boots, his ripped jeans, Sam's half-dirty jacket, his mud-encrusted sneakers, not to mention his chemical-soaked butt.
"Yeah, sure, of course we are - " Sam and Dean both say, then look at each other and come back with a "hmmm - "
o ~ o ~ o ~ o
"Sammy! Sammy!"
"What?" Sam squints his eyes shut, confused by the short skirt wearing long legs coming closer. "The hell?" He moves his head up from the rough surface underneath him, hair standing up in ten different directions, a laughing lobster imprinted on his cheek.
"Dude, am I that boring?"
"Sometimes - "
"Now that gets you one red lobster of not funny-Sam."
"What you talkin' 'bout?"
"Dude." Dean snatches the menu and grins at the smeared picture on it. "We're at a diner."
"Are we?" Sam's hands are in his lap, his back and neck bend over the table, not too far away from the plastic tablecloth.
"Yeah." Dean points at the short skirt wearing long legs. "And that's Mindy, our waitress."
"'Kay."
"Okay ... so, Mindy."
Dean smiles and Mindy smiles back.
"Yes sugar, what can I get you." Her smile broadens.
"I'll take eggs and bacon, and, uhm, some sausages ... What about you?" Dean looks at Sam, forgetting about Mindy being there.
"'M not hungry."
Was he hungry? He forgot. They were at the morgue, did he eat there? Dean got hungry. Dean talked and then - ?
"Hm ... add two coffees, black, would ya, hon?" Dean says, not looking at Mindy, not smiling at Mindy, and Mindy doesn't either, she takes down the order and leaves.
"You should get back to the motel, let me do the interview with the family."
"No, it's fine, Dean." Sam says, sitting up straighter, pulling his elbows up.
"It's not fine, Sam." Dean leans over the table, so that he's closer to Sam. "First you almost nodded of at the morgue and now here again ... you need to sleep."
"No, I don't. And we could have just stolen the finished report like we did with the other three."
"That would have taken too long, coroner hasn't even finished it yet, plus we still have to take a closer look at them, so why don't you do that after breakfast, you not exactly a people's person today, I don't want you to scare of the mourning family."
"Yeah, okay ... " Sam shifts in his seat. "Why are all waitresses called Mindy?"
"Are they?"
"The last ones were," Sam says as Mindy brings the ordered coffee and fills the cups up, having gotten her smile for Dean back.
"Gonna take a leak," Sam whispers in Dean's direction and takes off, hearing Dean ask Mindy whether she chose the waitress profession because she was called Mindy.
He laughs, pushing the bathroom door open, and stops in his tracks, greasy tiles greeting him, making his toes tingle. What was he expecting? Really stupid. Sam steps inside, does what he's here for, then steps over to one of the washbowls.
The water's cold on his hands, and it feels good, he leans forward, bends down, splashes the refreshing water into his face - a moment there's nothing, then there's smoke and a low whistle, and Sam lowers himself further, pulling his knees down with his upper body. The whistle is getting higher and a figure is coming out of the smoke -
"It is your fault, Sam, you lied to me, about who you are, and now I'm dead, it is your fault, it should have been you."
"No - "
The pipes give in, soaking Sam into hot water. He's covering his head, crawling over to the tiny window, kneels into the corner, feeling his mind turning into rubber; he screams, he screams loud, he -
Hands are all over him, and Sam's still screaming, wanting them to go away, wanting to be left alone.
"No - "
"Leave me alone!"
The hands are getting stronger and his stomach starts to convulse, he's jerking forward, banging his head the second time today before retching on whatever is in front of him. The hands soften, he gets calmer, the ringing in his ears stops ...
"Sammy ... Sammy ... "
"Sam ... "
"Alright, you're better." Dean's grabbing Sam's face between his hands, inspecting him.
"Another - ?"
"No, yes - the sheriff - "
"The sheriff - "
"Or maybe somethin' I ate."
"Yeah, well, you haven't eaten anything since two states ago."
"Dean - " Sam's leaning forward, away from Dean, a new convulsion going through his body, making him barf again. "I, I think something's wrong ... I think I'm losing my mind."
o ~ o ~ o ~ o
Sam's sleeping -
Sam's dreaming -
Sam's tossing around in his sheets, waking up covered in sweat, breathing heavy, fingers searching for his temples, the headache is back, if it was ever gone.
"Hey - "
"Hmmndeamhmn - "
"You're not better, huh?"
Sam shrugs, gets out of bed, his body is still numb with sleep, his throat is dry, a sour grapefruit-y taste in it.
"I'm just - " He heads for the bathroom, splashes some water onto his face.
"Think we can leave now," Dean says. "Already got the bags in the car."
"Leave - " Sam gets out of the bathroom, towel in hand. "What do you mean leave? What about the case?"
"Dude - " Dean smiles and bites his lips at the same time. "You were like out for a day, it's tomorrow, case's closed."
"What do you mean case's closed?"
"Bad son of a bitch and I had at a nice salt'n'burn."
"But what - I mean, what?"
"It was a ghost, sort of."
"Sort of?"
"Yeah, of a guy named Peter Postwine, a wizard or something ... Got you some nice hallucinations, huh?"
"You ... "
"Yeah ... I ... "
"I need some aspirin ... and a beer," Sam says, hoping to find both in the car.
"Let's hit the road, then."
"Okay - "
"And I so gotta tell you about Mindy."
o ~ o ~ o ~ o
The boys moved a few states down, then a few states west. Sam isn't sure where they are right now, but he's sure he doesn't want to sleep. It's 3:50 in the morning, Dean's in his bed, his bare arms embracing the pillow, necklace hanging lazy from his neck.
Sam closes the door behind him, he got used to being invisible to other night owls by now; he was used to it before, he just forgot. His and Jess's friends, her family, they went on with their lives, Sam's stuck, Sam's loosing them, Zack and Brady, with each ghost he destroys, he becomes a lesser sound in the lives of his friends. He's struggling. New friends, a new love. That's out of the question. All he leaves is a bloody hand print on the lives he saves; a piece of him stays with the ones he can't.
Sam's taking the car again, getting into his old routine of driving aimlessly around, watching out for Carltons now and then. He takes a U-turn, comes to a hold at a gas station and gets out of the Impala. Dean sure will want some coffee when he wakes up.
THE END
AUTHOR'S NOTE
At the beginning of Phantom Traveler (yeah, not my ep I know) Sam comes into the motel room with two cups of coffee very early in the morning, and the boys talk a bit about how he's not sleeping and stuff. So I figured what is he doing when he's not sleeping and how is it affecting him?
So here he is, basically sleepwalking through the whole story; at first it was a lot longer, I think I cut about 15 pages out, a lot of stuff about the bad guy and his victims, Mindy, Dean, hunting, grave digging and yeah, skinny dipping too. It kinda didn't work with the whole Sam being barely there-thing. That's why I let Dean deal with everything, and Sam being mostly clueless, but hey, the boy has a lot on his mind.
I'm not sure if the ending is working for everyone who will read this, or rather read this, since you really should have read the story before reading my ramblings on it. So the ending, it's rather abrupt, I'm aware of that, it's like huh, what did just happen? And that's what Sam is feeling (at least in my head he is), and I wanted to stay with him and his point of view throughout the whole story. Of course Dean told him everything afterwards. I also like to think that the ending of my little fic is the beginning of "Phantom Traveler." Pretty silly, but I like that thought ... So I hope you enjoyed it a little bit and don't forget Sammy's is awesome.
So, those are my original notes to the story from when I posted it at lj, I thought I include them here and I hope you enjoyed this little ride and reviews are Sam love :)