Supernatural Guide to Saving the World
Disclaimer : I don't own anything Supernatural nor will I ever.
Chapter 1 – The Unwanted Second Chance
It was like the worst hangover Sam had ever had, jerking awake by the slam of a trunk. The light coming in from the motels curtained window hurting his eyes.
The panic is already setting in as he takes in his surroundings. Sam clearly remembers falling asleep in his bed at the bunker last night.
He is instantly lightheaded as he jolts himself upright from the worn sheets of the motels bed. The action is awkward and slower than he'd like causing him to peer down. Wide eyed, Sam takes in the sight of the adolescent body he is attached to.
What the hell is going on? Sam's mind is on overload, trying to come to terms that he is currently inhabiting a teenage body, his teenage body.
"Finally up, Sleeping Beauty?"
Sam spins to see a very young, nineteen-year-old version of his brother walking out from the dimly lit bathroom.
He must be gaping like a fish because the young Dean gives him a strange look as he walks to the motel bed closest to the door. The no doubt fake Dean starts to haphazardly throw his clothes into a duffle only taking care with the weapons he hides at the bottom.
"Dean", Sam croaks in a voice much too young to be that of his thirty-three-year-old self.
"Get up, Sammy. Dad wanted to hit the road 15 minutes ago."
Sam moves his gangly limps to the edge of the bed and stands not taking his eyes of the young version of his brother. Nope, he is definitely not thirty-three anymore.
"I am gonna put this stuff in the car. Meet me out there in five!" Dean says as he makes his way out the door.
No. No. nononononono….. Shit.
O
Sam is trying to convince himself that he's hallucinating as he watches his long dead father talk about music with the younger version of his older brother. He is most definitely hallucinating and definitely not freaking out like a little girl.
Maybe, maybe his mind broke again. Maybe he never left the cage the second time. Sam digs his nails into the skin of his left hand, feeling a slight sting. Deep down knowing it's not enough to convince him of the reality of the situation
Because in all honesty Sam is pretty sure that he is in a much dire situation than hallucinating, again. If he is to believe the newspaper that he glanced at when they stopped to fill the Impala's tank, then Sam has found himself in late September of 1998.
Of course, he'd be the one to wake twenty years in the past.
Time Travel is not on the favorite hits list of things he's done and Sam is sure that whatever is going to happen next won't be good. Because nothing ever goes good, ever.
O
It takes a long while for the initial shock of everything and urge to test his father and brother for every kind of monster to dull to a distant ache. Sam sits quietly in the back seat.
He takes in the sight of his wrinkle free brother, untouched by Hell, no longer weathered by Purgatory. No longer tainted by the Mark of Cain.
No.
This version of his brother is untainted by the future Sam comes from. Sam's throat constricts and he swallows, trying his best to push down his rising emotions.
Dean makes witty remarks in his direction and he easily plays along with the brotherly banter that he is all too familiar with. It second nature to Sam for he and Dean had never truly lost this sort of relationship, despite both hell and heaven's efforts.
He is grateful that his father hasn't tried to talk with him. Sam doesn't know whether he'd be able to keep the cool façade if his father was to ask him anything.
His father's face is younger than he can remembers, lines yet to form on his face. John's eyes still hold that haunted look though. The look of a seasoned hunter who's seen too much. Sam's seen the look in Dean's eyes and he has no doubt that his own eyes have shown the same look as well.
Of course Sam would find himself back in time to when his father and he would argue constantly one minute and be silent the next. He is grateful that this seems to be a moment when they aren't speaking to each other. Because even now, Sam doesn't think he'd be able to keep a civil conversation with the man, despite being a thirty-three-year old adult.
"You've been really quiet, Sam" His father's gritty voice resonating above the music of Led Zeppelin.
He literally has the shittiest luck.
"Just tired I guess." Sam replies hoping it's drowned out by the music.
"You slept in this morning. Can't be that tired, can we?" John's voice subtle yet undeniably accusing cuts into him as they make eye contact through the rear-view mirror.
Barely holding in a biting remark, Sam takes a moment to think of how to proceed. Short and respectful he'll need to go if he wishes to avoid an argument.
"No, Sir"
He turns his head from the accusing glare of his father and stares blankly out the window. Gripping the worn leather seat, trying desperately to contain the childish anger that rises inside him. It's not the time nor place to lose himself to the long-buried anger towards his father. His daddy issues must take a backseat for now.
Or forever.
Dean must have sensed the tense atmosphere that had set in small confines of the Impala, breaking the silence with a question.
"So, what exactly are we going after, dad?"
"There's evidence pointing to werewolf attacks in Minnesota, gonna go check it out."
"Cool! Sammy it's going to be your first werewolf!" Dean exclaims as he turns in his seat to look back at Sam.
"It's Sam." Comes out effortlessly as he breaks into a smile at Dean's childish glee.
"Sam won't be joining us on this hunt, Dean." His father interjects.
"Dad, he's old enough and he's been doing good with training. The three of us can do this."
Dad glances over to Dean and stays on him for several moments before looking again through the rearview mirror at Sam. Mulling over the pros and cons of having him come on this hunt.
"I guess it would do you good to go on a more dangerous hunt." John concedes not even throwing a glance in Sam's direction.
Dean's face breaks out into that shit eating grin of his, the one that he does every time he gets his way and looks back at him.
"Come on! Aren't you even a little bit excited?" Dean's cocky eyebrow raising in turn with his question.
Sam forces himself into a grin, in an attempt to appease his young, older brother. He puts as much enthusiasm as he can muster into his reply.
"Of course, I am! This is going to be sick!"
Sam's words do seem to appease Dean and he swivels back to facing front, turning up the music as he does so. Sam lets out a soft sigh before facing the window once again. He doesn't remember going on a werewolf hunt at this age.
Only thing Sam can think of after that is how fucked he really is.
O
They arrive late on the outskirts of Windom, Minnesota two days later at a dingy motel that had surely seen better days. Sam helps bring the bags in, all the while trying to remember whether he'd and Dean had been to this town themselves.
Brushing off the strange sense of déjà vu, Sam settles on the bed furthest from the door as his brother takes a shower. Their dad having left 15 minutes before for 'research' which Sam is sure is just code for going to the bar.
The last few days have been hard for him. It's been increasingly hard not to let something slip to either of them. He seems to be able to interact with Dean with a good amount of genuine effort. Interacting with his dad was a whole other situation all together. John was stubborn and hard and everything Sam remembered him being.
Everything he is.
John was making it increasingly difficult to keep his façade in place. Sam has had to resist the urge to rip his dad a new one, knowing that doing so will only worsen the tense situation.
He and his dads last words to each other before John had made the deal were none to pleasant which dredged up unwanted guilt in Sam. He knows of the secrets that John had kept from he and Dean.
Is keeping from them.
Not that Sam isn't keeping huge secrets as well but honestly, he is feeling pretty justified with his secrets. Sam knows how crazy he'd sound to his father and brother if he tried to explain that he is from the future.
No, he doesn't need to open up that can of worms.
Sam believes that John knows something is wrong if the sideways glances or looks in the rearview mirror are anything to go by. But on the other hand, his father could have always watched him like this. With him being the anti-christ and all that.
Other than his bantering with Dean, Sam has been left alone to his thoughts the last couple of days.
He's been in the past for three days now and nothing supernatural has made itself known. This equally frustrates and relieves Sam. He still has no idea how he ended up in the past. Nor how he should proceed from here on out.
This twisted second chance he's been given has opened an opportunity for him to stop many bad things from ever happening. Sam should be thankful for this chance to right so many wrongs but truthfully the thought of having to go through everything again makes him nauseous. Dread fills him just thinking of the evil that is waiting for him.
The memory of Lucifer in Cas's body makes a shiver run up his spine.
Shaking off those unwanted memories, Sam thinks of Dean.
Dean. Dean of the future.
Sam wonders if Dean is looking for him right now. He and mom getting together, searching through Men of Letter's books for answers. Sam wants to believe that is exactly what they're doing but a pit in his stomach leaves him with constant feeling that something is wrong.
What if he has already changed the future? The fear of ruining the future has kept him from doing anything thus far. Unsure if the ramifications are worth the good he could do.
Exhausted Sam lays down, burying his head in the pillow, an attempt to stem his throbbing headache. That is how he falls asleep; with Lucifer watching him through Cas's cold eyes that slowly morph into his own and memories of future's past lulling him into a restless night.
0
The next morning does nothing to ease Sam's aching head. Dean's giddy mood grates on his nerves as they clean their guns, preparing for the night's hunt.
Surprisingly, it seems that John hadn't gone to the bar last night as Sam looks at his sober father. He also seems to be in a particularly good mood, a good mood for dad that is.
Sam doesn't feel up to going on a hunt just yet. His gangly adolescent body makes it difficult to move around and his coordination lacking. He'd forgotten how scrawny he was at this age. No hint of the six-foot-three man he would become.
"Watch how your putting that together Sam!" John's harsh order jerking Sam from his thoughts, looking up at his father.
"We don't need one of us getting killed because of your gun getting jammed."
"No Sir." Sam replies, almost to biting as he continues with putting his gun together.
Sam has done this hundreds of times in his lifetime. He wasn't doing anything wrong. He mentally shakes his head. This is how it is between them, sharp words, and heated looks. Sam can't remember a time when their relationship hadn't been so hostile. It must've been better when he was younger but thinking now, twenty years older than his body shows, he can't think of an instance where they were.
If he can get his body to maneuver the way he wants, this hunt should go well with the three of them. But then again something always goes wrong.
Sam hopes that he can keep his secret while keeping himself alive in the process.
O
It's just after dark when they begin making their way into heavily wooded park of Windom. The only source of light coming from the full moon that shines above.
Sam has almost tripped twice since they've been out here and he swears he's heard his father say something under his breath each time. Yeah, Sam really didn't want to be doing this.
Sam feels like they should have done more research on this case. All they know of is the 4 mutilated bodies with the hearts missing. He expects nothing less though; his father and brother had always been the ones to shoot first and ask questions later types.
It isn't until an hour of uncomfortable silence, that they hear the first sound of life.
There is no time to react when the werewolf comes out of nowhere, Sam and Dean thrown to the ground by the impact. A shot rings out and John is already chasing after it. Dean who's recovered quickly follows close behind.
Sam tries to keep up with them but they've gained a great distance on him. His breathing rapid from exertion. A sound stops him in his efforts to catch up with his family. He readies his gun, slowly scanning his surroundings, not seeing a single thing.
Perhaps there was another werewolf they didn't know of?
Against his better judgement, Sam doesn't follow Dean and John. He makes his way in the direction of the sound.
Fifteen minutes go by before something catches his eye. Sam is forced to move a little closer to be able to make out that it is a cabin that has made him stop. He moves as silently as possible, dried leaves crunching under his foot. Many scenarios running through his mind. What if there is more than one werewolf? Sam honestly doesn't know if he'll be able to take out a fully-grown werewolf on his own.
Everything in him is screaming not to go inside but really, what other choice does he have now. It has only been a few months since he and Dean had been on their last werewolf hunt. The one where he was shot and left in a cabin in the woods. With Sam's luck this was gonna go very badly.
Steeling himself he pushes open the unlocked door of the cabin. Sam cringes as it creaks loudly in the silence of the cool Autumn night.
The cabin doesn't look like it's been used in quite some time. Thick layers of dust cover the outdated furniture and appliances. But he knows that things aren't always what they seem. Shifting across the room, the floor creaks below making Sam freeze. The floor feels uneven beneath his feet. Feeling around he catches something metal with his boot.
Sam kneels to get a better look in the dim light. It is a latch to a trap door. Sweat gathers on his forehead as he wills his small body to heave it open. Much too dark to see he snatches the old box of matches from the shabby side table.
Light from the small wax candle illuminates steep stairs. Sam carefully makes his way down the rotten steps into basement.
The spacious basement is a chilling sight, the smell of rotting flesh assaulting his nose. Sam's eyes are instantly drawn to the pile of bones that sit in the corner of the sparsely furnished room.
They're human bones, maybe four or five skeletons. It makes Sam queasy and the need to leave growing with every second.
'I really shouldn't have left dad and Dean.' Sam thinks as he takes in the sight of the basement of death.
He doesn't think that this is the work of just one werewolf.
He starts to back away when he feels hot breath on the back of his neck.
Shit!
Sam swings his body around and lashes out at the being behind. He misses and is shoved backward landing hard on the floor. Dropping the candle, he tightens his grip on his gun.
Sam doesn't know how it could have gotten in without him hearing.
The werewolf tries to wrestle the gun from his hands and he pulls the trigger. It flinches away, the bullet lodging itself in the werewolf's arm.
Sam then noticing the growing heat of the fire he'd unintentionally set when he dropped the candle. Old dry shelves catching fire easily. The flames already climbing the walls.
Sam moves back as far as he can and shoots the werewolf in the head before it can lunge at him again.
The rotten stairs are being eaten by the flames and the air in the small basement fills with smoke.
Now with the extra light Sam frantically searches for another way out. The werewolf had to have gotten in somehow.
Sam notices a hole in the wall. He prays to Chuck for it to be a tunnel out.
Thankfully, it is a tunnel. Sam shimmies off the small backpack as quick as he can and starts crawling up through the hole, fire licking at his heels.
It takes longer than expected to break through to the top and when he does, Sam lays there heaving. He's inhaled too much smoke and his torso is on fire. Sam is sure that it is littered with bruises.
He knows he needs to move and Sam wills himself to move from the cold ground and he trudges forward, away from the cabin whose windows are lit by fire that consumes from within.
He doesn't know which direction he is heading but trudges on as far as he can. The burning cabin no longer visible other than the smoke that has started to rise to the night sky.
Leaning against a tree Sam slides himself down. He's tired, his young body not yet able to take the beating of the supernatural.
"Just a rest", he whispers to himself. He just needs to close his eyes for a moment.
For a moment.
O
It is early afternoon before Sam forces himself from sleep. His body is stiff and achy from the nights events.
Well, Dean and Dad didn't find him then. The thought annoying Sam as he stands from his place on the ground.
After getting his bearings he decides to make his way back toward the cabin.
There is barely anything left of the cabin when he arrives. A small amount of smoke still rises but it will soon be nothing more than ash.
Sam stands there for a while, just watching the smoke rise above the trees.
It's not their fault but Sam can't help but be a little peeved that he hadn't been found. He now has to make his way out of the woods and back to the motel on his own. He's cold, hungry, and bruised. He should've known that this hunt wasn't going to go as planned. Actually he did.
And so, Sam begins the long walk back to the dingy motel that stands miles away from where he is now.
Dad and Dean must've gone back to the motel to regroup before coming back out to look for him. He doesn't know whether either of them have been hurt. Which is a possibility, considering that there had been more than one werewolf last night.
The sun is already going down by the time he makes it to town and is relieved. It's quiet, like it is in every small town he's ever visited.
He's been to this house before.
Dear Chuck, John hadn't come here just for a werewolf hunt.
He came for Adam.
White hot anger hits Sam like a sack of bricks and he has to take deep breathes to calm himself. There must be a reason for his dad to be at the house of his illegitimate son instead of searching for him. He makes his way around the house toward the back-kitchen door and peers inside.
His father is hunched over in a chair, head in one of his hands. The other holding a bottle of whiskey. He seems to be whispering to himself and despite Sam's anger his heart goes to his father. He'd never seen him like this before.
Kate Milligan walk into the kitchen from the living room and lays a hand on his dad's shoulder. He looks up at her and Sam's surprised to see tears in his eyes. She gives his shoulder one last squeeze and leaves him be.
For a time, dad sits there staring at nothing. His only movement is to reach for phone and dials a number. He waits for an answer on the other end.
"Bobby." He's quiet for a moment before continuing. Of course, he's probably calling Bobby for help looking for him.
"Sam. Sam's dead, Bobby." John's voice cracks with the emotion he's so desperately trying to contain.
Shit. Sam's mind curses. Do they think he's dead?
Does Dean think he's dead?
The realization hits Sam but he stays rooted, watching the broken image of his father.
"My little boy is gone. Dean hasn't spoken a word to me since we found Sam's burned bag. The bones. He's at the bar now, my nineteen-year-old is drinking to forget the fact that his baby brother has burned in a fire."
His father moves the landline to his lap. Sam can hear the questioning tone of Bobby on the other end. A moment more and John ends the call.
Sam starts to move forward, to tell his dad that he was fine but then John speaks again.
"Nothing can hurt you now, Sammy."
Sam freezes as he registers his father's words.
Oh, how wrong he was.
Sam backs away leaving his despondent father in the yellow hued kitchen.
Sam leaves the house and leans against the cool metal of the Impala, his mind reeling from the events of the past few days.
His life is so fucked up.
But him being thought dead is an opportunity he hadn't known he could want. Things will be easier without his father's questioning looks and Dean's constant worry.
He need help. He need to find a way back. Be it Angels or Demons or fucks sake, Rowena, he needs to get back. Sam needs to find a solution. And if he can't then Sam is going to have to fix things on his own.
He looks back at the house for a moment longer then quickly looks away. Without looking back Sam walks off in the direction of the highway.
Unbeknownst to Sam a horned necklace burns hot in his worn jacket as he walks toward the daunting future of his past.
O
And that is the first chapter of my time-travel fic. I hope everyone liked the beginning of Sam's journey.