Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Eric.
Author's Note: I would like to apologize in advance for those who have experiences with anything the likes of Columbine. This story is not meant to agitate, it is only meant to saturate. Also I'm about to say something incredibly contradictory.
1: Warning for underage drinking.
2: This is a story about happiness.
Big Skies
"It's wonderful to climb the liquid mountains of the sky, Behind me and before me is God and I have no fears." – Helen Keller
It was spring. That crisp time of year when the snowdrops were blossoming. The mornings were still cold as hell. The shadows under the cherry trees brought Goosebumps to pale arms and necks. Warm exhales puffed out in front of smiling faces. Patches of frost still sometimes covered the sidewalks and made the careless slip.
Sam loved this time of year. The air smelled better. It was clean. Fresh. He loved small towns in spring. Basically everything was better. Except ghost hunts. It was a long standing tradition of John's to head south for the winter. Only very rarely did they take on a ghost hunt while the ground was still frozen. Only when no one else could take it.
Dean was John's willing assistant. Sam still had the excuse of school, but that would expire within a year. It was a new semester in a new school. Halfway through his senior year. And despite the hunts, the sporadic injuries, the more and more frequent fights between him and his dad, life still looked pretty damn good.
Because Sam had grown.
All those empty threats all the way through his childhood, the promises that he would one day top Dean had now come true. He'd hit a growth spurt a few days before his sixteenth birthday. A growth spurt which meant new clothes. Not just hand-me-downs Dean could no longer fit. No, it meant new jeans with fashionably made holes instead of wear-and-tear ones. It meant shirts that were designed to fit a certain way. To look a certain way on Sam and boys his height and width.
And not just clothes that "looked fine".
Sam was coming into his own in more ways than one. He was growing, reaching the height genetic markers and destiny had preordained him to reach. Learning more and more each day, running longer and faster. Beating his brother in hand-to-hand combat more and more often. Excelling in school, climbing higher and higher towards being a complete version of himself. And unlike most the kids his age he was aware of these imminent changes.
The hunts his dad and Dean took him on offered him a unique perspective that Dean had appreciated since he was fourteen years old. A sense of pride that most kids his and Sam's ages could only fake. A sense of calm that, to Sam, spilled from him and into the rest of the world. That and the thoughts of more.
College being a clear option, but by far the only one. Hunting was a very real possibility too.
Because Sam had really learned a lot since he started growing. He'd become more like he was meant to be, which inevitably meant more like Dean, though not as much as John probably wanted. But John was his father. His job of raising Sam was done. At least that was how the teen viewed it.
Unbeknownst to Sam many other kids shared his sentiment.
They all felt they were on the cusp of something great. They all felt wise and ready to branch out and explore, though everyone handled it in their own way. For Sam the most reasonable course of action was to rebel against the only two authority figures he'd ever had. For the first time in his life Sam felt normal.
"Hey, man." A friend came up and slaped his hand with a smile.
For the first time Sam had friends. People who in part shared his views of the world. "Hey, Joe."
"Heard about the English test next week?"
He nodded. Of course he had. Sam was still a book worm. And one of the more interesting ones as far as his equally intelligent friends were concerned. "Yeah, Catcher in the Rye, right?"
"Right. Should be a piece of cake. Asked Ally about the questions and she said Mrs. Thompson just recycles the tests from previous years."
Sam grinned. "Hey, talk to Shannon lately?"
Joe smirked and hiked his jacket up higher.
"What?" Sam smiled. The sun was rising and casting a glow over everything.
"Had her over this weekend."
"And?" Sam pulled his friend to a stop.
Joe shrugged, but the smile was combatting the sun. "And I think I scored."
A disbelieving laugh. "Shit."
Joe shook his head.
"She's gorgeous." Sam could honestly say he wasn't jealous. The day he realized he was almost an inch higher than last his last measured height, he started paying more mind to everything Dean said about women. Turned out some of it was true. Turned out Sam wasn't so bad at picking up girls either.
Lately all Dean had to complain about was Sam's lack of ambition. "Women, Sammy". Sam just smiled and shook it off. He was fine dating girls his own age for now.
"Yeah," Joe chuckled. Clearly he was embarrassed which just added to the fun of teasing him.
"So when're you gonna see her again?"
Joe shrugged. "Said she'd call."
Sam nodded, completely unable to wipe the smile off his face. It was amazing what a few inches did to his mood. That and the fact John had pulled a muscle too close to his groin for comfort. The injury had actually forced him to lay low for almost two weeks, to Dean's boredom and Sam's quiet joy. All he had to focus on were friends and school.
The school opened up in front of them, wide doors leading to clean halls, gossiping kids and bored teachers. Everything Sam had ever thought of as normal. One of the few schools with an open door policy. Sam had joined, no questions asked, in the middle of the term. It had appeased John's mood some and had probably been a contributing factor as to why they were still there.
"Hey guys,"
"Brian, how'd the game go?" For the first time in his life Sam had befriended a lacrosse player. The worst type of jock as far as Dean was concerned, but a little closer to being convinced since meeting him. Jace was cool, or at least Sam thought so. He knew John couldn't care less and that "cool" was too high school for Dean to still be saying it.
"We lost as usual, but at least coach was too tired to call us out this time." Jace shrugged and slung an arm around Joe. "How'd the hot date go?" His Cheshire-cat smile reminded Sam of Dean, which was probably why Dean's frosty atmosphere had begun to melt within minutes of meeting the kid.
"Oh, he scored." Sam hurried to say. The two boys shared a grin and began the ruthless teasing, straight into the halls of the now familiar school. It was the first time Sam had ever felt so relaxed in an institution, any institution. He had never really liked being surrounded by people, but somehow these two boys made it more bearable. He was comfortable enough to relax. To laugh and not worry about who heard.
They shuffled into the first class and settled down.
Spanish, which Sam would never be great at, but something he nevertheless intended to pass. Class ended and the three boys milled out with the current of other kids. More classes, more jokes. Shannon found Joe at one point and figured he'd already bragged about their adventure over the weekend. Without embarrassment she leaned in and kissed him, made him promise a repeat, and vanished with a group of squabbling girls.
More teasing. More classes and gym. Sam followed the current and wondered why he'd never thought of doing it before. Dean had been right in his own way. It was so easy to make friends. What still confounded Sam was why Dean had never really bothered.
As they headed into their second last class, all his ponderings suddenly vanished to be replaced by a familiar rush. A faraway pop. Screams. Panic. The teacher rose halfway out of her chair, worried eyes on the closed door. Sam flinched, but knew in a second what had made the sound.
As long as he lived he would know the sound of gunfire. It was deceptively low, and sounded nothing like it did in the movies. But to Sam it was like a go-signal. He was ready to sprint from the room and get whoever'd done it.
"Just s-sit down,"
But the teacher wouldn't let them leave. Joe and Jace looked ready to balk. Since Columbine this was every school kid's worst fear. Every principle's nightmare. Sam was tensed and perched on the edge of his seat. It had been close. Down the hall as far as he could guess. A hand snuck into his bag and reached for the switchblade. Not that it would do anything against a gun. Not that Sam was so sure he could use it to kill a human.
Not that guessing mattered when more shots rang out and more screams followed. "Oh, God." The teacher jumped to the door and did the stupidest thing she could have done. She looked out, but the second she did she pained a target on the entire class.
A new kind of fear filled Sam. This wasn't a hunt. He wasn't the predator, but the prey. The beast wasn't something he could just kill. Not something he could objectify. It was someone real. A kid, as he realized when a pop forced the teacher back into the room. She bumped her desk, closing the door behind her, before she slid to the floor.
Sam was out of his seat the second he saw the splotch of red on her shirt. He was kneeling next to her when her hands aimlessly fluttered in the air, unsure where to grab. Her pulled off his hoodie and pushed it down on the wound. This he could do.
John had made sure his boys knew all about battle triage long before their first hunt. "Easy... easy," His eyes were wide and kept flittering from Ms. Clarkson to the door and back. There was no way he could let go to lock it.
He flinched when a chair scraped the floor and Joe flew to the door, turning the lock and flicking the lights – which did nothing but enhance the bright daylight flowing in through the windows. He slipping over next to Sam. The young hunter was going through everything he knew about bullet wounds before his mind stumbled onto the most logical thing. "You got your cell?"
Joe nodded. Jace slid down to the floor next to them. The other kids looked shell shocked. One of the football players looked like he was ready to tackle anyone who pushed through the door.
"Call an ambulance."
"Shouldn't I c-call the police, man-"
"Ambulance first. Bet you someone else already called the cops." As he said it he saw several kids pulling out their phones out the corner of his eye.
Joe dialed.
Jace ran his hands through his hair. "Sh-shit, this doesn't just happen!"
"Jace, I need you to help me pull her down." Sam waved him around to the other side. "Down," They grabbed on and gently lowered Ms. Clarkson all the way to the floor. "Easy." He kept the pressure, but was unsure of what else to do. Friendly fire was never an issue on hunts. John had made sure to teach his boys that, and Sam was afraid to release the pressure and look. Ms. Clarkson was looking awfully pale and her breathing was getting more labored. She was looking at him through glassed eyes.
He glanced at the door. It was completely ridiculous to close it since half of it was just one big window.
It happened in slow motion. Three more shots rang out and Sam looked up. Some of the kids screamed. Nothing. Sam looked back at Ms. Clarkson who was passing out. He looked back up and froze. A kid was standing outside. Dark circles under his eyes. Drops of blood on his neck like he hadn't noticed what he was doing. "Joe…" he whispered.
Several other kids looked and cried out.
And Joe was sitting right in the line of fire. I tell you to drop, you do it!
His friend looked up and saw what Sam did. The jock had noticed as well and pulled back with the other kids. Some of them were crying, cramming together in the back of the room. The kid tried the handle with little success. He looked so calm. So out of touch that Sam lost what little calm he'd had a second ago. His body seized and his breaths came out short and uneven. His heart was pounding.
The kid stepped back and held up the gun. Joe couldn't move out of fear. "…No."
"Joe, move. Move!"
The shot rang out and Sam ducked instinctively. Joe thumped back into him and slid to the floor. Jace had let go of Ms. Clarkson and slid back against the blackboard. Sam let go of the bullet wound when Joe collapsed next to him. He stared at his friend in utter shock.
The bullet had come close to hitting Sam, had hit Joe in his right hemisphere and killed him instantly. Brains and blood had splattered on the floor next to him. Was pooling while the kid calmly reached in through the broken window and unlocked the door.
Sam felt feverish. All thoughts of his concealed switchblade were gone as he looked up into a pair of deadened eyes. The kid looked almost as far gone as Joe was. Sam was shaking when the kid held up the gun only a foot from his face. There was a second of confusion where Sam recognized the kid. He was a loner. An outsider. As cliché as they came. Now there to put himself on the map along with other sociopaths like Klebold and Harris.
And it was in that moment something indefinable changed inside Sam.
"Dean, you get the rags?"
Dean threw down the groceries and flipped a pack of clean rags at his father. "You're welcome. Not like I had to drive ten miles to the nearest Wall-mart by the way."
John smirked into his dismantled guns. "Good."
Dean snorted and began putting things into their rightful places. "You hear from Sam?"
"No. What?"
Dean shrugged. His back was turned, but he keenly felt his dad's eyes glaring. "Nothin' just sad he missed the game."
"There'll be another one next Friday." John might've been out of commission for a little while, hopped up on painkillers with nothing else to do but clean his guns, Dean's guns and Sam's two nine millimeter. That didn't mean hunting suddenly took second fiddle to everything else.
"Yeah." Dean curled up the bag and stuffed it in the trash, not real concerned with recycling. "You don't think it might be good for him?"
John frowned, already tired with this line of conversation. "To see a football game?"
"No." Dean sought for the right word and sat down. "To get out and be with friends." It was a weird change in his usual behavior. It happened sometime after he turned twenty. He began seeing John in a different light. Began seeing Sam in a different light too. Figured he had something to say about how his kid brother was being raised.
"He's with his friends every other night. Kid's never been so popular." John had noticed a change in his eldest son too. Dean was more inclined to butt in whenever John and Sam got into one of their arguments.
"Yeah, but it's good for him, right?" And despite this newfound sense of parental control Dean was still lost when it came to what was considered 'normal'.
"He's fine, Dean." John suddenly felt his already low blood sugar drop and considered pausing work for a half an hour to get some grub. He looked longingly in the direction of the small kitchenette.
"You want something?" Dean glanced at the kitchenette and back at John.
"Yeah. Anything's fine."
Dean got up and began pulling stuff out he'd just squared away, deciding a sandwich wouldn't be amiss and made one for himself too. "I'm just saying that Sam needs to get out and be a kid sometimes."
"I thought we dropped this?" John sighed into his palm as he ran it down his face. A ham and cheese toast was slapped down in front of him.
"You know what we should do, we should go with him." Dean bit into his own toast with glee.
"Don't think Sam would appreciate us tailing him when he's out with friends."
Dean blinked. "To a game."
"You go if you're so interested."
"You're not?" He couldn't quite bring himself to accuse his dad.
"There are more important things in life, Dean." John couldn't contain his second sigh and was grateful when his phone rang. "You wanna get that?" It was probably Joshua calling back about the ghost in Parkersburg.
Dean grabbed the phone and answered. "No he's not here at the moment. Who's this?" He frowned.
John perked. Dean turned to face him with a growing grimace. "Parent phone chain?" The scowl deepened right before his face paled.
"What's wrong?"
"What?" Dean's voice was barely there. Sandwich forgotten.
"Dean, what is it?" Dean didn't move. "Give it to me." John held out his hand, and started getting up when Dean still didn't move. Only at his first curse did his son flinch awake and pass the phone to his dad. "This is John, who's this?"
"Hello this-this is Teresa Dearborn. We haven't met, but you're next on my phone-list in case of emergencies."
"What's the emergency?" John's heart was beginning to pound.
"Mona Tinkerton's son ca-called an hour ago. He s-said someone was shooting at the school."
John zeroed in on Dean, who suddenly woke up. Grabbed his dismantled gun and began putting it together faster than John ever could. If he hadn't been so horrified he'd have been proud. "What?" Shooting?
"She called Liz who called Mary, who called me-"
"I get the picture. Uh, I don't have the phone-list." He looked up at Dean who shook his head. That meant it was trashed the second they got it.
"Oh... oh." She fell silent. "My-my husband's down there now. I guess I could call…"
"I'd appreciate that." Dean handed John his own newly cleaned and collected gun, and stuffed his own under his jacket. "I'll head down now. Thanks for the call." He was halfway to the door when he snapped the cell closed and limped after his son.
Dean was turning the ignition when John slipped in. His own injuries not bothering him anymore. A threat to his boys' lives had always done that to him. He didn't know his boys had inherited that particular trait.
"You wanna park behind the football field and hike in-"
"No gotta do this the official way. Just get to the school." He pulled out his gun. "Leave 'em here."
"Dad-"
"Just do it." John snapped.
Dean grit his teeth and pulled the colt out of his pants, passed it to his dad who popped it in the glove compartment.
The last half mile up to the school was chaos. Cars were parked on either side of the road and the closer one came to the school main-building the fewer private cars and the more police cruisers.
Sergeant Waits was pacing along the busy sidewalk with the sheriff of Chesterfield beside him. "We know who this kid is?" He was surprised by the swift response of the small town PD.
"Reports say it's a local kid named Kevin Norwood. His father's in my unit."
Waits stopped short. "This kid's dad is one of your uniforms?"
The sheriff nodded. The situation was hell without adding the bad publicity of Virginia police officers into it.
"Well that changes things. This kid got any training with firearms?"
"Dunno. You'd have to speak with Gary."
"Norwood's dad?" The sheriff nodded. "Bring him."
He sped off as one of Waits' officers came up to him. "We've got SWAT in position. Ready to move on your say so."
"Good, but tell 'em to wait. I don't wanna rush in and get any more kids killed. Report say how many shots were fired?"
"Witness accounts say anything from nine to fifteen. Impossible to tell. The last call going through the Chesterfield Sheriff's Office was at 2:37."
Waits checked his watched and cursed.
His officer continued. "One caller said she saw a friend of hers go down, but nothing conclusive since we haven't been able to get in."
"Alright. Tell Donahue I want eyes inside." He left his officer and caught Sherman with the uniform. They shook hands. "You Norwood?"
"Yes, Sir."
The officer looked thoroughly shook up, but was otherwise composed. "Can you confirm that your son is inside that school?" He pointed to Chesterfield High.
Norwood nodded, albeit a bit tentatively. "He left this morning around seven thirty."
"Alright, but no calls from his teachers, no calls from friends?"
"No."
"Do you know if your son had access to any firearms?"
The sheriff and Norwood shared a look before the sheriff nodded at the officer. "My private .38 revolver is missing, Sir."
"Shit," Waits looked back at the school before he turned and gave the father an thorough once over. Speaking in a very low voice, Waits asked: "Sir, could your son be the shooter?"
Norwood hesitated a long moment with his eyes pointed somewhat unfocusedly at the school. "…Yeah."
Waits didn't waste a second. "Buzz, get over here!" The Richmond officer returned in a quick trot. "Tell your guys that the shooter's name is Kevin Norwood and that he has at the very least a .38 revolver, and possibly other weapons on him."
The officer bobbed his head and ran back to inform the SWAT team. The sheriff dismissed Norwood and snuck back over to Waits. "What do we do about the parents?" They both looked over at the mob of concerned parents, curious civilians and rabid reporters.
"You think your guys could set up a second perimeter? Put everyone who isn't directly related to a kid inside that school behind it."
The sheriff nodded without hesitation. "Done." He turned, "Morrow, get your ass over here!" and was off.
Waits looked over the civilians with a deep frown. If anything set these people off they'd have a stampede on their hands. Chaos. There was no other word for it. And the possibility of it was almost more frightening to the seasoned Sergeant than what was going on inside the school.
Sam's brain shut down. The kid pulled back with the gun and pulled up Ms. Clarkson's chair. There he sat down and placed the gun calmly on the desk. Ms. Clarkson was dead or dying since Sam had let go for fear of being shot. Joe's brains were splattered all over the floor and the wall. Sam's entire left side was covered in the spray from the bullet wound, but he couldn't really feel it.
He couldn't feel the cold linoleum through his pants or the hard tabletop against his back. Not Clarkson's clammy hand that was lightly touching his own. All he saw was the open door right in front of him.
It wasn't until a whimper broke through his stupor that he even looked at the carnage around him. Jace had wedged himself into the corner furthest away from the door. Not that it mattered when the kid was sitting at the desk with an unobstructed view of the entire classroom. Sam couldn't understand what the hell he was doing. Why he was just sitting there.
Apparently he wasn't alone. "Wh-what do you want?" a very shivering voice asked. A girl. One of those people Sam had seen around, but never talked to.
The kid just looked at her and without hesitation held up the snub-nosed revolver and pulled the trigger. Sam flinched and swallowed down the bile that threatened as she took the bullet in her upper left shoulder and went down. He had no idea what to do. Normally he would be reaching for his own gun, but he had none.
Despite the knife in his bag John thought it was a bad idea to send his sons to school with guns. The switchblade. Sam could've kicked himself. He looked at the bag. It was within reach even without standing up. He liked to sit at the front. He liked to keep his bag on the floor and not on the backrest of his chair like most others. His knife was usually kept in the front compartment of his bag for easy access. Ms. Clarkson's desk had been pushed right up to Sam's abandoned table.
It felt like fate.
Now he just had to reach it, but even that was impossible. He couldn't understand the numbness he felt inching its way from his chest and into every other extremity. He couldn't understand why he couldn't just reach out and slip his hand in the bag. The desk was blocking the kid's view! He couldn't understand his own reluctance.
He couldn't understand his body's refusal to fight someone who was threatening his life. Even if that someone was human. He risked a glance and saw the kid sitting with both hands in front of him, eyes on the far wall. Like he was waiting for something.
Sam couldn't understand what this kid could possibly have to look forward to.
"Shit." Dean muttered. "Street's blocked." Officers were pushing civilians back, moving roadblocks. Expanding the perimeter.
"Alright. Go back and park outside the gym."
"Yeah," Dean had thought the same thing, but wondered if John could make the trek to the school with his busted thigh. "You alright to walk?" he asked as he pulled the break.
John's only response was to open the door and yank himself out with the help of the roof.
Dean arched his brows, and decided to leave it. "What now?" He kept one step behind his dad in case the injury pulled him down.
"We find a cop and ask what's going on."
"You don't think it's supernatural." It was a statement, not a question.
"I can't think of anything that would be this obvious, can you?"
Dean didn't need to answer. They both knew the answer to the question for better or worse.
The kid looked around the classroom like he didn't see actual people. Sam had seen a slightly similar look on Dean's face when he was looking over possible suspects for a hunt. Cool, objective deliberation. What do we kill today?
Cops had arrived outside. They'd all heard them and it wasn't long before they cemented their presence.
"Kevin Norwood." A voice over a megaphone blared in through the windows. "This is Sergeant Waits with Richmond PD. I have Sheriff Sherman and your father out here with me."
The kid froze a fraction away, his hands surreptitiously reaching for the gun. Sam couldn't take his eyes off him. Didn't want to. Even as he slowly inched his hand towards the hidden switchblade.
"We are aware of the situation and only wish to speak with you."
Sam's hand had gripped the knife and palmed it. Now he just needed the right opportunity.
He began shaking his head when the kid looked at him in suspicion. His heart did a flip flop when his eyes next slid over the other kids in the room. Walking right up to Sam, the kid – Kevin – put his hands around Sam's neck without hesitation and put the gun flush to his forehead. It was still warm from the previous discharges.
"I'm not going to jail." He didn't sound like he really cared. "Get up."
Sam started shaking. The knife was tucked up his sleeve. Not visible under two layers of clothes. "Kevin, don't-" Sam whispered.
"Shut up." Kevin didn't raise his voice or even flinch as he pulled Sam to his feet with a firm grip on his collar.
This kid was barely as tall as Sam. Skinny to boot, but more and more memories of him popped into Sam's mind. He'd seen him around, but never taken any real notice of him.
"Walk."
He was pushed forward and kept his hands up. He had no idea how the kid would react. Had no concept of how to predict his behavior. All he knew was that Kevin seemingly didn't care who he killed. "Where are we going?"
"Just keep walking."
No nudge with the gun. Kid obviously knew enough not to put it straight against someone's back. He steered Sam into an empty room after two turns left, into equally vacant halls.
"Sit down."
Sam spotted an empty school chair and folded himself into it. Carefully watching, as Kevin dug into the abandoned desk in search of something. He found a letter opener and a roll of duct tape.
"Gimme your right hand." He never looked Sam fully in the eye.
Sam couldn't stop staring straight into Kevin's. He raised his arm, but was too slow. Kevin grabbed it on its way out from under the desk, and the second he did Sam whipped his wrist and grabbed Kevin's free hand. He pushed out from behind the table and unfolded the knife as it passed through the air. He managed to knick Kevin's gun-hand right as a knee came in contact with his groin.
He folded like a wet paper towel with a breathless cry. Kevin brought the gun up and let off a shot that went wild, nicking Sam's shoulder instead of hitting him square in the chest. The same side that had Joe's blood and brain matter on it. He cried out and fell back against the wall, knife leaving his grip and clattering across the floor. When his back hit the wall he slid down to his butt and brought up his uninjured arm, pleading with Kevin not to take the second shot he'd lined up for. "Don't-"
"Shut up!"
It was the first sign of anger Sam had seen in him, and he instantly stopped pushing. He curled into a ball and waited for a shot that never came. Instead Kevin yanked him off the floor and dragged him at a half crawl to the abandoned desk. He slammed Sam's face against the tabletop and put the gun to the back of his head. Sam groaned low in his throat.
But again instead of shooting, Kevin grabbed Sam's right arm and slammed it against the desk. He cried out, but quickly quieted it to frantic breaths.
"Move and I shoot."
The pressure lifted and Sam slipped down slightly, but made sure to keep his head and arm against the table. Kneeling in front of it, grabbing it with his other hand. Kevin returned and put Sam's own knife against his throat.
"I got both now. Stay there." The anger from before was gone.
Sam stayed with his face down and his arm resting on the desk. He heard bullets clanking against the surface and the crisp sing of metal as Kevin picked them up and put them away. He put one bullet back into the gun so Sam could see. He pushed the gun into Sam's hand and grabbed the duct tape.
"You try anything, you die."
Sam had been scared many times in his young life. When he first found out about hunting. His first actual hunt. The first time he almost lost Dean or Dad. But this, he realized, came closer to horror.
Kevin rolled up Sam's sleeve and proceeded to tape the gun into his right hand. Finished and rolled the sleeve back down. Close up it was easy to spot the silver tape, but from afar, like say from behind of squad car, it could be mistaken for an extension of the silver snub-nose. Kevin pulled him to his feet and put the knife to his side.
"Move."
He led them down vacant halls till they saw red and blue lights come through the front entrance of Chesterfield High. And through the shocking realization of what was about to happen, Sam's only thought was, I hope Dad and Dean aren't here to see this.
Dean and John pushed through a literal mob of reporters and spectators to reach the second roadblock. There John instantly flagged down a cop. "Hey!" His bark momentarily silenced the small throng of people in his immediate vicinity and produced and officer. "My name is John Winchester. My son is in that school." He pointed.
The officer didn't waste a second asking for credentials. John showed him an outdated driver's license with his name and picture. "This is my son, Dean." After a moment of doubt the officer let them both through.
John slipped right up, past the crowds, to the next hurdle. Dean right behind him. "I need to speak with someone in charge."
It occurred to Dean then, what his dad had probably considered quite some time ago, that Sam might not even be in the school. But if he had gotten out then he would've called, and the fact that he hadn't would suddenly come to mean something completely different. He could be hurt. Or worse.
A Sergeant approached them and John wasted no time in repeating what he'd told the first officer. "My name's John Winchester. My son goes to this school-"
"That's him! That's the one I told you about! His son's the shooter!" a frantic woman began screaming into the crowds. All eyes turned to them.
Waits didn't really know why he agreed to talk to the man. He spotted him the second Sheriff Sherman pointed him out. Something about his bearing reminded Waits about his buddies from the academy. He pegged him for a military man the second he saw the young guy next to him. They had such a similar look that they could be little else than family. Father and son probably, and experience told him that sons of marines grew up fast and hard. Waits reached the barrier and held out his hand.
"My name's John Winchester. My son goes to this school-"
And then the screaming started. One of the mothers had joined her husband at the school and was whipping up a state of panic they really didn't need. "Sherman!" he called to the slightly chubby sheriff. "Take her and sit her down with an officer." Waits held up the tape and let John Winchester and the younger man pass under it. "This way, gentlemen."
"My son isn't the shooter-"
"I know, Mr. Winchester. We've got a suspect in mind, and it's not your son. We checked Sam out when Mrs. Thorn first started screaming about him. Principal vouches for him."
The poor man visibly deflated, as did the younger one. "This your other son?" Waits sat them down on the bumper of a standby ambulance.
"Yeah," The kid held out his hand. "This is my oldest Dean."
"Nice to meet you."
Waits decided he rather liked the kid. Seemed rational enough. "Alright, I gather you're looking for your son, but I can tell you right now that I don't know what his situation is. We're trying to account for all the children inside, but as you can imagine it's going rather slow. Some have made it out, but we've confirmed that most are still inside." He watched them carefully for signs that they weren't up for a detailed account.
Then the father nodded. "Anyone dead?"
"None so far. A teacher was rushed to the CJW Medical Center in Richmond, but most have already been checked out. We think there are more gunshot victims inside, but none have come out." He knew that bit of information wouldn't go over very well.
The son drew a deep breath, but kept quiet. "You know if any of the kids that made it out was my son?" John Winchester's voice was calm, but when Waits looked at his face all he saw was fear.
"I'd have to check and I'm afraid that might take a while." The man nodded. "You'll let me escort you back behind the security perimeter?" He held out a hand and was relieved to see both men rise, though they did so with the utmost reluctance.
As they reached the crowd of anxiously waiting parents, John Winchester stopped. "My son didn't do this." he whispered.
Waits nodded. "I don't doubt you, Sir." He gently led them over behind the block and let out a deep sigh, feeling like he had just dodged a bullet. "Find me officer Norwood!" Though he never got the chance when suddenly a Chesterfield blue walked over to him. Bristly and scamming for an argument by the look of things. Couldn't be older than twenty five.
"That Dean Winchester you were just talkin' to?" He looked pissed as he pointed at the father and son. Luckily neither man heard him through the din.
"What's it to you, Officer?" Waits didn't have time for this. He started walking and was pleased to see the officer follow, away from the crowds.
"Kid's been in bar fights all across town, that's what."
"So?"
Norwood came over, but drew back when he saw his colleague and Waits arguing. "Sherman?"
"You're the Sheriff's boy?" Waits eyed the young man up and down. He was nothing like his father.
"Yes, and I'm telling you that guy's entire family is trouble if they're anything like him."
"You think I give a shit what you think?" Waits looked him up and down. "For all I know it could'a been you Dean Winchester was fightin' in all those bars."
Sherman Jr. drew back, though he still looked pissed.
"How about we make a deal-"
But he never got to name the terms when shouts rang out through the joined police force. Weapons were drawn and every armed officer ran to the front of the barricades as the front doors to the school opened.
Waits pulled his men into position when a kid came out, holding a gun. Kid's left side was covered in blood, and the first thought the went through Waits' mind was that they had the shooter.
All hopes were dashed the next second. "Sammy!" He saw Dean Winchester jerk towards the kid with barely contained panic. His father held him back, looked like he had to use his entire body to do it too.
Waits looked from Winchester and his son, to the boy on the front steps. What the hell just happened? "Everybody, HOLD!" He kneeled down behind a squad car and waited. "Sam Winchester?"
The kid looked a far cry from alright. Covered in blood that could just as well be his own as it could be someone else's. Pale and hunched over. "Y-Yes." he shouted back. He wasn't looking at the cops, but at his family. With a horrible, sucking sensation Waits got the feeling that the kid was ashamed.
"Put down your weapon and put your hands above your head!" Waits had a gun trained on the kid, but really hoped he wouldn't have to take the shot. He knew Sherman Jr. wanted nothing more and prayed it didn't come to that.
"I c-can't!" Kid was looking majorly spooked.
"Just put down your weapon and come on out." Waits was determined not to let this kid die.
What next happened had him rethinking his entire theory. The door opened a bit wider and a second kid slipped out behind Sam Winchester. Norwood and Winchester? "Sam, drop your weapon!" They stuck real close to each other. Waits thought he saw the kid in the back lean in close to Winchester, but had no chance in hell at hearing what was being said. "Mr. Norwood." he called when he spotted the father in the back near the ambulances. Waits bobbed his head and asked in a lower voice. "That your son?" He gestured to the kid behind Sam.
Norwood nodded, a look of complete desolation on his face.
"Mr. Norwood, I need you to talk to him." He watched the father who only had eyes for his son. "Make sure Kevin understands that no one's gonna hurt him if he and Sam surrender."
Norwood swallowed. He looked like he'd rather take a bullet himself, but then he spoke. "Kev-Kevin?" His timid shout brought the attention of the second kid and the two of them climbed a few steps. "You n-need to put down the gun, son." He kept swallowing nervously. Waits didn't blame him. God only knew what he would've done in a situation like this.
Kevin leaned into Sam again and whispered something. "We just want the c-car!" the Winchester kid called. Waits caught a glance of John and Dean Winchester off to the side, looking confused and worried. A thought popped into his head and he let it simmer a bit.
"Ask him which one it is," he whispered to Norwood.
"I know wh-which. It's my wife's old car." He kept swallowing. Looked like he was ready to break down.
"Where is it?" Waits asked.
"Over there," Norman pointed to the closest car on the parking lot.
"And clear a passage!" the Winchester kid shouted again. His head was down and his entire body was screaming for it to stop, whatever was being done to him.
Waits watched Norwood's kid a bit closer and noticed he had a hand up to the Winchester kid's side. Was he threatening him with a second weapon? He got out from behind the squad car with his hands up and his gun hanging from his thumb. "Look, Sam, we don't wanna hurt you."
"S-Stop!" Both boys jerked back. Waits' last doubts vanished, but before he could speak Kevin grabbed Sam's arm and brought up the gun.
Before he could fire, the Winchester kid wrenched his elbow free and smashed it into Kevin Norwood's nose. Something slim and sliver whipped through the air and the Winchester kid cried out as he scrambled back, landing hard at the bottom of the stairs. The next second cops were screaming at him to "drop his gun!"; Waits was running at Kevin to keep the knife away from him, and a flash of army green flew by him towards Sam Winchester, but was tackled before it ever made it halfway.
Sam was shaking so bad he could almost feel his teeth clattering. The nervous rush of blood from earlier had exploded into a full-blown fever. Kevin pushed him through the door and stepped out when it became clear he had to in order to get anywhere.
It didn't take Sam two seconds to spot his family. They were behind a cordoned off area. He saw Dean and almost balked, but the knife that was digging into his side wouldn't let him. He wasn't hurt, not really. The gunshot wound didn't really count since it was just a graze, and he didn't even care about the smack on the head. Yet every inch of him hurt for some reason. He even felt like he was going into shock.
He'd seen his brother go into shock once after a nasty gash along his side. Shaking and not being able to form cohesive thought, let alone words. Couldn't keep his focus on anything for more than a few seconds. Eyes kept skittering around his skull, expecting danger to jump out at him every second.
Kevin whispered something in his ear. Sam repeated it as loud as he could without really hearing the words. He wouldn't be surprised if they thought Kevin and he were working together. He wouldn't be surprised if his only friends left in the world were his dad and Dean.
One of the cops walked out in front of his car and Sam's heart sped up. Kevin whispered in his ear. "S-Stop!" But the cop didn't stop. Kevin gripped his arm as hard as he could and brought up the gun with one bullet in it.
Sam's eyes widened and next he knew he twisted his elbow back and slammed it into Kevin's nose. He kicked out and slammed Kevin back into the double doors, while Sam stumbled and bumped down every single step down that damn front entrance. Without thinking he began ripping off the duct tape and flung the gun away just as the first black dressed SWAT guy descended upon him. Not knowing what else to do he stayed down and raised his hands like he had with Kevin.
"No, please-"
"Stay down!"
He did as told right until his brother came hurdling through the police officials with a clear look of panic in his face. He was tackled about halfway and Sam lunged from the ground, screaming his head off. "DEAN."
Someone grabbed him and forced him back down onto his stomach. His hands were pulled back, agitating the smarting bullet wound, and he was pulled up by a set of strips. Flanked by SWAT members and angry cops, his brother much the same, as they were dragged apart screaming out every curse they knew.
Processing was a bitch, but in this case it had actually been preferable to the situation that followed. Gary Norwood was in an interrogation room with his son and Sam Winchester was in an interrogation room with no one.
The kid was just shy of eighteen and legally bound to have a guardian or a lawyer present with him, but small town PD had grown restless in the wait for the kid's father and brother to show up. They'd gone ahead despite Waits' threat so the Sergeant had eventually decided to sit in with them and make sure the kid got to tell his side of events.
He knew how small town cops operated. They hardly ever had to deal with situations of so high importance, or with such pressure. And so most of them had never sat in on an actual interrogation before. Waits could already hear the accusations as he walked into the room.
"See I got a theory-" Sherman Jr. was saying.
"Officer Sherman!" Waits barked. "You will sit down and wait your turn, you understand!" Another problem that had worked against Sam Winchester was his quiet nature. Kevin was in the other room, looking more like he needed a shot of Haldol and a rubber room, but Sam was balanced. Seemingly normal. If not completely and utterly terrified.
Waits spent a few seconds staring Sherman Jr. down before the cop backed off and took a seat. If John Winchester came in and saw how they were treating his son they would have a mother of all lawsuits on their hands. Waits pulled out a chair and sat down. He put the soda he'd brought from the vending machine down in front of the kid.
"We know you didn't do it, Sam."
He practically heard Sherman Jr. puff up. "Like hell we do-"
Waits whirled on him. "Out!" His finger jutting at the door. He waited until the officer saw the depth of the hole he was digging himself into, and left. Only when the door closed and left Sam in a room with three, relatively friendly cops, did Waits speak again. "We know you didn't do it, Sam." he said again, trying his damndest to calm the kid down.
He looked up with such fear and relief Waits almost broke down. His eyes left the kid's, surprised by the intensity. Then he noticed his hands. "What's he still doin' in cuffs?" He looked at the two senior officers. "Take 'em off." he barked when no one moved.
The elder, whose name Waits didn't remember, took them off and stood back against the wall.
"I'm sorry, Sam but we just have a couple questions." He looked at the boy, waiting for some sign of recognition.
"I didn't do it," he said in a quiet voice.
Waits nodded. "I know."
The kid drew a deep sigh and his eyes welled up. He hadn't even been allowed to wash the blood off his hands or face. "You hurt, Sam?"
He drew his shoulder up and frowned. "No." he said, as quiet as before.
Waits nodded. "Drink that. It helps with the shock."
"I already told them about Miss Clarkson."
Waits nodded. "I know, t's not why I'm here."
The kid obliged and took one sip of the pop.
"I'm obligated to inform you that we can't interrogate you without an adult present." Sam glanced up. So no one had told him that. "That being said, this is not an interrogation. You are not considered an accomplice to what happened today. Do you understand what I'm telling you?" Waits lowered his voice for the last question and watched for the small nod that eventually came. "Are you prepared to answer some questions or would you like to wait until your father gets here?"
"My dad's not here?" He looked up, completely surprised.
Waits looked at the two cops for information. The one who'd unlocked Sam gave it. "We were told he was waiting outside."
But Waits figured that wasn't even close to the truth. "Sure." He came very close to snarling, but toned it down to a grimace before he turned back to the kid. "Sam, you wanna answer a couple'a questions?"
Sam nodded and took another sip of his coke. The only movement he made really. Other than that he looked like he was trying his hardest to look as small as possible.
"Alright. Did you talk to Kevin Norwood before today?"
He shook his head. "Couldn't remember who he was when he pulled a gun on me," His voice was small. Washed out. Barely a grain of fight left in him, Waits thought.
"Do you remember if he told you anything?" Sam looked up. "Maybe about the people he'd shot before he found you?"
He shook his head, looking heartbroken that he couldn't even answer a simple question. "H-He didn't say much. Just orders."
"Orders?"
He nodded and almost sank into the seat. "Stand up. Walk. That kind'a thing."
"I see." Waits sat back before he stood up and held out a hand for the kid. "That's it." Sam glanced at the two officers, almost asking them for permission which stirred something bitter inside Waits. "Whatta ya say we go see if your father and brother are here yet?"
He nodded and bowed his head as they left the interrogation room.
The office was surprisingly quiet for the amount of officers in it. Waits and Sam entered to see Sherman Jr. talking quietly with his father. A few others doing paperwork, of which there would probably be enough to last them a couple months.
He sat Sam down and the kid submissively complied. He'd been put through the ringer, that one. His face was almost grey which was accentuated by the spots of blood on it. "You want to wash up?" Waits asked quietly, wondering why no one had let him do it yet.
The kid glanced down at his hands and swallowed, tears springing into his eyes.
"Sam?"
He nodded without raising his eyes. Waits helped him to his feet.
"Restroom's through there." He vanished and Waits turned just as the brother stomped in, looking mightily pissed.
He caught sight of Waits first. "Where's my brother?" Walked right up to him, almost looking like he might take a swing.
Waits backed down, figuring the guy had just had the worst day of his life. "He's in the restroom, cleanin' up. Where's your father?"
"Getting the papers ready for his release." Dean bit out. He was having to pull every instinct not to deck the guy. Where the hell did they get off arresting his brother for being taken hostage by a phsyco? To his praise the sergeant looked a little contrite having it thrown back in his face.
Waits nodded. "I'll go see how he's doing. You wait here. Sam should be out in a minute."
Dean nodded and felt an ounce of the tension bleed out until a familiar deuchebag spoke up.
"Looks like violence runs in the family."
It was a guy Dean had had altercations with on a few accounts. He knew the guy was a cop or he would've beaten him up a long time ago. "Too bad the same doesn't apply for intelligence or you might've followed your dad's lead and stayed the fuck away from my kid brother." Dean figured the older man at his side was related. They had the same eyes, plus the deuchebag had mentioned his daddy was in law enforcement. They were looking real chummy. At this point Dean didn't really care if he wound up spending a night in the slammer.
The officer shot out of his chair. "Better watch your mouth, you piece of shit-"
"Dean?"
A scared voice Dean would've known anywhere called out. He turned to find his brother, looking like hell. Staring at Dean and the guy who was two seconds away from knuckle-sandwich. Suddenly though, it didn't matter. "Sammy," He surged forward just as Sam did, launching himself at his brother.
Dean exhaled, but soon felt a deep ache in his chest at the way the kid was shaking. It felt like every inch of him was quaking. He pulled back, not letting go completely, to look him in the eye. "You ok?"
Sam wouldn't look up, let alone make eye contact. Wouldn't even answer with anything but a soft nod. Dean's chest clenched at the thought of the treatment he'd gotten at the precinct. He ignored all the looks they got and quietly steered Sam towards the door, glad his dad was just outside.
"Let the little snot run on home then,"
"Hal-" someone murmured, but it was too late.
Dean put himself between Sherman Jr. and Sam. Puffing up as best he could. "You got something to say, how about you do it without hiding behind your dad?" He wasn't about to beat on a cop. He wasn't stupid.
"Oh yeah?" But apparently Hal was. "Like your baby brother's hiding behind you?"
Sam winced under Dean's hand and something very, very dark slipped over the older brother. Something he was pretty sure Sam could smell. "Dean, let's go." he whispered. But Dean wasn't done. Maybe he was a little stupid.
"You wanna talk about hiding?" He stepped forward, showing off every inch of his 6 ft. "How about you stop hiding behind your badge." He waited for a reaction, but when none came after a few seconds he turned back, ready to leave.
"You wanna go a round, fine! Badge is off-"
Which was about as far as Sherman Jr. got before the sound of leather and metal hitting a desk signaled to Dean that he had literally taken off his badge and put it down. He swung, not giving any of them a second to react, and brought up his right fist in a haymaker. With one swing Hal Sherman was punched off his feet and into a table where his colleagues instantly came to assist him while others advanced on Dean.
Then Sam was there, reaching around Dean's chest and physically pulling back, though not very successful. Dean was ready for round two when an authoritative call made everyone freeze and a stronger arm wrapped around his chest. John growled an order in his ear.
Dean figured it was something in the lines of "back off" so he did. Let his father and brother pull him towards the exit while Waits waved down the uniforms that tried to stop them. "He instigated the fight and put down his badge." Waits turned with a quick nod at John, before he turned back to Sherman Jr. who was only now scrambling back on his feet. "He had it comin'."
The car ride back to the run down house John had rented for the month was quiet. Not as oppressed as Dean had feared, but rather a little depressed.
Sam sat rigid on the backseat, right up against Dean's side. John and Dean both knew the kid was far from alright when Sam didn't even comment as Dean slipped in the backseat with him. John just hopped back behind the wheel, of the car he hadn't driven for nearly five years, and headed back "home". His leg was hurting something fierce, but he knew they needed to check on Sam first. Tylenol would do the trick until he could lay down.
He pulled over and hobbled up the front steps. The light was on which was the first time John became aware it was dark outside. He unlocked and hurried inside when Dean brought up Sam. Without a word he set coffee brewing and grabbed the first aid kit from the kitchen.
"Sit down," Dean gently said and guided his brother into the couch. Sam was keeping his arms close to his body and not looking at anything but his feet. John hadn't been around a lot of kids outside his sons, but one kid he remembered from 'Nam had folded just like Sam was doing now. Seen something that shocked him senseless to the point of depression.
John nudged Dean onto the couch next to his brother and took the coffee table for himself. "Sammy," He put his hand on the kid's cheek and broke at the fear he saw as he finally looked up. "Hey, buddy." He kept his voice low, hoping not to scare him.
The result was better than John had hoped for. Tears sprang to Sam's eyes and a soft sob ripped out of his chest before he lunged into his dad's arms. John grabbed him and pulled him a little closer, aware it was uncomfortable for both of them, but not caring. Beside them Dean sniffed and quietly leaned towards his brother as well. Putting a hand on Sam's neck and kissing the back of his head like he hadn't done since they were both toddlers.
John reached out and clapped his son's back before he awkwardly pushed back and stretched out his ailing leg. "How you doing, kid? You hurt anywhere?"
Sam sniffed and wiped a few stray tears from his cheeks. One fist still around Dean's shirt. His brother was sitting closer than would normally be allowed. Another tell that alerted Dean and John to the severity of the situation. The youngest Winchester looked up after wiping his eyes a second time, though the tears kept falling quietly. "I w-was shot." he whimpered.
"What!" Dean barked in outrage. The bastards at the station hadn't even checked.
"Dean, calm down." John saw his youngest flinch at his brother's yell, and rolled in his temper with an unusual calm. "Your shoulder?" He had seen the way Sam had kept his left arm tense, but thought it was just a bruise.
Sam nodded.
"Lemme see." Sam began pulling his shirts off as the coffee maker beeped. John gave Dean a look that sent the elder brother grumbling to the kitchen. As Sam pulled off his filthy t-shirt John sucked in a little breath. Not much bruising except around the graze. Which was all it was really, but the fact that it had been allowed to bleed and go unchecked for almost eight hours made it look ten times worse. He drew in a deep breath, "Alright." and pulled out the wipes. They'd start slow, assess the damage as they went.
Sam winced, but kept still as Dean returned with three cups, the pot and a bottle of whisky John thought he'd hidden better. He poured a shot straight up for Sam before he poured the coffee for the three of them. "Drink up."
Sam looked at it a second before he gulped it. A few more tears rolled down his face and were quickly followed by a sob.
John instantly stopped, thinking he'd hurt him. But when he looked up he realized it wasn't anything he'd done. "Sammy?"
Dean was tense as a spring next to them, and didn't move a muscle as Sam got progressively more upset. Openly crying for the first time since he was three. "Sammy, what's wrong?" Dean asked in a near whimper.
But the question only exacerbated Sam's sobs.
John had no idea how to react and did the only thing he could think of. He poured his kid another shot and put a hand on his neck to steady him as he served the drink. Sam took it and leaned into the touch. "You gotta tell me what's wrong, kiddo." he whispered.
Dean was almost creaking as tense as he was. John was worried he'd pull something. And Sam just kept crying. For almost twenty minutes. Snot and tears kept running down his face until Dean at one point grabbed him and pulled him close. The comfort had made Sam cry out in the most inhuman way John or Dean had ever heard. He had screamed into Dean's shoulder while his oldest boy put his chin on Sam's head and cried without a sound.
John had seldom felt so useless as he sat there and rubbed circles on his baby's back.
Not until the cries died back down to long, drawn out sobs did Sam pull back. His face was wrought in the same kind of agony John had seen too much of in his life. Felt too.
"He's d-dead." Sam ground out. Breathing choppy and uneven. Face read and wet. Voice cracked and hoarse.
"Who is?" Dean asked in a voice much lighter than John had heard before.
"J-Joe." Sam said between clapping teeth. "Joe's d-dead." A sob. "Joe's dead Joe'sdeadJoe'sdead-"
"Shh, shh,"
More uncontrollable sobs followed that statement as he curled in on himself with Dean ready to catch him.
Dean recognized the name instantly from his "Oh, god. I'm sorry, Sammy."
John needed a moment before it hit, but when it did he felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. He remembered the kid and Sam hanging out one afternoon in front of the rental house. Good kid. He wiped a hand down his face and poured a shot for himself as well, staying in his awkward position on the coffee table in front of his sons.
Not moving for a long time. Most of the night was spent with Sam crying until he eventually passed out, having worn himself out. John hobbled over to a holey chair and watched Dean pull his kid brother into his arms before they lay back on the couch. When they woke up next morning they realized they'd fallen asleep for the first time in years without putting down the usual wards. The supernatural evils had never seemed so insignificant.
The next day Sam didn't speak. He took an hour long shower and kept his head down. Ate a bowl of cereal and otherwise said nothing. When asked directly about anything he would nod or shake his head. If the question required a more complex answer he would simply sit and…think.
Dean kept trying and trying to get him to open up. John was in complete denial and had absolutely no idea how to handle his son's grief. When he and Dean were upset it was easy. They would internalize until the sorrow turned to anger. Then they would lash out.
But Sam never quite got past the internalization phase. He stayed depressed for days to come. Each day he would eat a little more, but he would still only speak when spoken to. And those were the good days. It came to a head, or at least John thought it was a head, when another friend of Sam's came over. Four days had passed.
They were burying Joe the next day.
Sam excused himself and his friend, and they went to sit on the front steps. The sun was out that afternoon. It felt like the first real day of summer. There was a heavy quality to the air and Dean swore he heard humming everywhere.
John kept covert track of the time the two boys spent outside. Occasionally he would steer past the façade windows and try to listen in on their conversation. It seemed like most of the time they weren't even speaking.
"Are you going?" Sam whispered.
Jace nodded and glanced up. The sun stung his eyes, it was so sharp. "You?"
Sam looked like he hadn't heard the question, but Jace figured otherwise. He waited.
The youngest Winchester considered it. He would need to let go of some of some guilt eventually, but didn't even feel that ready to acknowledge it yet. Something had changed when Joe died. "I don't know." he finally answered.
Birds were chirping. A light breeze was tickling the trees. The skies were blue with grey trimmings. Sam hoped there would be a storm to relieve some of the pressure. He wondered if Jace figured Sam's family would be moving on. If it even crossed his mind. If he even cared.
A car passed by. Something hummed as it passed too close to Sam's ear. Butterflies were kissing flowers that had sprung up overnight. Sam had forgotten how long he had been in doors.
"I know you might not wanna hear it," Jace hesitated and drew Sam's sunken eyes. Though deep they still held a tiny shimmer of something he had before this catastrophe. "but I think his mom would appreciate it."
Sam nodded, though he doubted it. He would no doubt only remind her of exactly how her son had died. How Joe had looked into his attacker's eyes and seen the bullet coming before Kevin ever pulled the trigger.
A sparrow set down on a rotten pole in what had once been a yard. It looked like it had once been part of a fence, perhaps even painted white. Now it was just moldy and worn. The bird twittered and set off. Sam hated it a little. He wished it was that easy. Just take off and fly into the skies.
He looked up again. The sky looked never ending. Oddly enough since the grey rim was looming just over the horizon, cutting the big, blue vastness from terra firma and mockingly reminding all humans below that it wasn't never ending. That they could never just take flight and vanish into it.
"You should go." Jace looked over.
The sun caught his hair. Sam frowned into the bright light. "We're leaving today." It hadn't been discussed, but he was pretty sure Dad wouldn't argue.
Jace's face fell a second before it righted itself. He nodded and looked down.
"Sorry." Sam whispered.
"It's alright." he whispered back.
They looked away again. Jace at the road and Sam at the sun. It felt warmer than it had the week before. Sam wondered what Jace would do with the guilt. If he felt any. But from the expression he had seen every day that week in the mirror, he guessed the two weren't that far apart.
"We'll keep in touch or something." he offered, not really wanting the constant reminder he knew Jace would be.
The floorboards inside squeaked. Sam was pretty sure his dad had just made his third lap past the window on his way to the bathroom. They hadn't been out there that long. Though, as he looked up, he thought the sun hung a little lower in the sky.
"Yeah. I've got your e-mail."
Sam nodded, but didn't speak. He had been very deliberate in not giving out his phone number. They changed the damn things anyway, so there was never any point. "I'll write sometime."
He understood now why Dean never made friends. Why Dean always said blood came first. Family mattered. Work mattered.
"No you won't." Jace mumbled and pushed off the front steps. He turned back and offered a sad smile.
Sam froze at the unexpected answer and watched Jace make his way down the street. His heart sunk when he realized the truth. "No I won't." But Jace was already gone.
It felt sad giving up all the things he once wanted. Felt like someone dying. Felt worse than Joe's death.
"Bye, Jace."
He got up and went inside. Closed the door and went to his room with one peace offering to soothe Dean and John's concern. "I think we should leave tonight." He shut the door and lay down on his bed. It would be another half an hour before Dean poked his head in and called departure. Another half an hour before they were packed up. John in the truck and his two boys in the impala.
There was a werewolf in Boston that needed killing.
It would be another month before Sam remembered his application to Stanford. Two months before he got his acceptance letter and began dreaming about normal again. Almost five months before he woke up one morning with dread in his heart, realizing John would never forgive him for leaving. And still he left.
FIN
"A certain recluse, I know not who, once said that no bonds attached him to this life, and the only thing he would regret leaving was the sky."