Park Bench
(Set after the graphic novel "Beginning's End" just after Sam has left for Stanford. Sam is having a hard time making it across the country to get to school, when Bobby finds him sleeping on a park bench. Short story, just a little what-if. Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters!)
The spring night was chilly and still, giving the feeling of a moment preserved in a glass globe. The scent of flowers, so full and cloying in the warm afternoon, was dying, and dew sprang out of the ground to moisten all surfaces. Flowers curled inward against the evening chill and all was quiet but for the vague hum of traffic in the background as the last few late-night workers headed home for sleep.
Bobby didn't pay much attention to any of it as he patrolled the park, eyes narrowed and senses sharp for any sound. There'd been three deaths in this park in one month, all homeless men sleeping on the benches now that the weather had turned, allowing the shelters to kick them out of their limited space. Bobby had a flashlight tucked in his belt, but he didn't use it, instead letting his ears do the work. Light would only give the werewolf and easy target.
He heard a soft rustling noise and turned to see a lumpy bundle lying on a bench bathed in the artificial glow of a streetlight. Tonight's most likely target shifted under his blanket; the lucky fellow had a real sleeping bag instead of a sheet of newspapers or tarp. Bobby paused for a moment, considering. It was the perfect trap; stake out the bench and wait for the werewolf to attack.
Bobby shook his head. Some hunters, Bobby could name one in particular, might do that kind of thing without a second thought. Bobby had baited traps before, but always with someone armed, aware, and conscious. He sighed and moved toward the bench.
The tousled head of hair shifted at the sound, and by the time Bobby had his hand on the young man's shoulder, he was already blinking into wakefulness. He turned his face toward Bobby, mumbling, "I know, no loitering. Sorry officer, I'll move."
Bobby stared. He knew that face, that voice. He'd dealt with the boy's morning grumpiness many times. But he'd never expected to find him sleeping like a homeless person on a park bench. "Sam?"
"Yessir, moving." Sam's voice was thick with sleep. He scrubbed a hand across his eyes and shook his head like a wet dog trying to shake of a clinging dream. He sat up, and blinked in surprise. "Bobby? Is that really you?"
"Yeah, son, it's really me. What are you doing out here, Sam? John's not using you for bait, is he?"
"Bait?" Sam's eyes shifted to the rifle in Bobby's hand, and his face fell. "There's a hunt here?"
"Yeah. How'd your dad miss that? Been three attacks so far, all homeless men sleeping in the park, found with their hearts missing."
"Oh. I didn't pay any attention to the news. I'm not hunting anymore."
Bobby took in the sleeping bag and the duffle tucked under the bench, then fixed Sam with a piercing stare. "Sam, why are you out here?"
Sam rubbed his face and yawned. "I was sleeping." Bobby just waited. "Dad and I had a fight. I left. I'm trying to get to California before the fall semester starts." Sam steeled his shoulders and set his jaw in his most stubborn expression. "I'm going to college."
A warm smile filled Bobby's face. "That's great. Congratulations." He clapped Sam on the shoulder. "Wait, how are you going to pay for it?"
Sam fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a crinkled letter. "I don't have to, I got a full ride."
"Well, I always knew you were smart." Pride was chased away by a familiar jealous anger, and Bobby scowled. "John wouldn't even give you a ride there? Where'd you two split up?"
"New York."
Bobby whistled. "Well, you sure picked a fine time to pick a fight. Couldn't have waited until closer to August, or sometime when you were at least on the other side of the Rockies?"
"You weren't there Bobby, he-"
Bobby held up a hand. "Hold on, I'm sure you didn't plan it this way. What's your plan? Hitchhiking and picking pockets cross-country?"
Sam scowled at his toes. "I wanna go straight, Bobby. No hunting and no stealing."
Sam had always been too gentle-hearted for the lifestyle his father had chosen. Bobby patted the back of the bench. "Well, that explains your choice of bed. Come on. Get your stuff. My car's about a block away, and I've got a room at a motel back by the highway."
Sam straightened, beaming. "Really? Thanks Bobby."
"Oh, don't thank me yet. You'll earn your keep." Bobby nodded to his rifle. "I've got another one in the trunk."
"Bobby I-" Sam started, then paused and took a deep breath. "Yeah, ok. One more hunt."
Bobby waited while Sam bundled up his sleeping bag and slung his duffle over his shoulder. In the sounds of rustling fabric he almost missed the soft thud of running feet in the grass behind him.
"Down!" Bobby shouted, and Sam immediately flattened himself against the pavement. Something large whooshed over the heads and landed with a thud two feet from Bobby's nose.
It was a large specimen; he had weighed at least three hundred pounds as a man, and now with added muscle and fangs from the change, this werewolf was the largest Bobby had ever seen. It landed lightly on its feet and spun around to face them, eyes glowing in the lamplight, saliva dripping from its mouth.
Bobby rolled to get his gun into firing position, but Sam was quicker. He jammed a long knife into the werewolf's leg. It howled and staggered backwards. Bobby levered his gun into position and fired. The first round hit the shoulder, but the second hit the heart dead center. The creature whimpered, and toppled.
Both hunters scrambled to their feet and inspected the body to make sure the werewolf wasn't getting up again. Satisfied, they stepped back to take stock of the damage.
"Ow." Sam put a hand on his shoulder and it came away wet with blood. "I think it got me."
Bobby inspected the gash. "Yeah, just a scratch, must've clipped you with its claws. Nothing that will get you out of finishing the job." Bobby nodded meaningfully at the body. Sam sighed, a wordless whine, and rolled the corpse onto his shoulders for transport to Bobby's trunk.
Bobby stepped outside the motel room, phone in hand. He'd patched up Sam's shoulder and the boy was already fast asleep. Bobby could barely remember a time when he had felt that young, free of constant aches and able to fall asleep anywhere.
Bobby yawned. He was ready for sleep too, although it might take a little longer to come. First, he had a call to make. The phone beeps as he dialed, and then a gravelly voice answered.
"Bobby? What's wrong?"
The way they had parted last time, the man on the other end knew that the only reason Bobby would call him was if the world was about to end.
"John Winchester, why did I find your son sleeping on a park bench?" Bobby wished he could make his voice as effortlessly intimidating as John. But the words just seemed to bounce of the other man, every time.
"Is Sam ok?" No regret, no apology, just business as usual.
"Yeah, he's fine, no thanks to you. Almost got eaten by a werewolf."
"He knows better than that." Disapproval oozed out of John's tone.
"He wouldn't have been in danger at all if you hadn't sent him off on his own. What were you thinking?"
Silence. It was more maddening than any excuse.
"Oh, that's right, you weren't thinking. You two never do, just let your hot heads run wild and let everyone else pick up the pieces later."
"He's on his way to college, Bobby." There was a crack in John's voice. "He's not hunting anymore. I can't—I can't stop."
"One day, John, you just might regret this." Bobby sighed and pushed away a mental image of shooting John in the butt with a round full of buckshot. As satisfying as that might have been, the opportunity was long past. Bobby settled into bed, wondering what trouble the Winchester's would bring to him next.
Sam stayed a week before he made any move to pack his bags and hit the road again. The boy was clearly exhausted and Bobby didn't blame him. It was hard to get good sleep in the back of a semi, or on a park bench.
He brought it up over breakfast. Bobby had bought real groceries; they had toaster waffles and syrup instead of his usual coffee and leftover beans.
"I probably ought to head on out. I've got a lot of ground to over before the semester starts in August." Sam was working on his second stack of waffles; he could eat an entire box by himself every morning, and today he was eating as if he could store the excess in his stomach for the trip ahead.
"You need to be there on August 14 for orientation, right?" Bobby laid an envelope on the table between them, with the image of an airplane on the front.
Sam stared, mouth dropping open. "Bobby, I—" His fingers hovered over the flap, and he peeked inside. Two tickets stared up at him, dated for August 13. "Bobby, I can't take this."
"Sure you can. I could use a vacation at the beach, and you could use a lift."
Sam blinked and scrubbed a hand across his eyes. Bobby didn't mention the moisture he saw there. He could only imagine how lonely the last few weeks had been for Sam, and how lonely it would feel to be the only Freshman moving in without any family to help him, or see him off.
Bobby allowed himself a brief moment of regret for the children he had never had. He couldn't change the past, but he could take advantage of this.
"I can always use an extra hand around here. How about you stay for the rest of the summer, work the scrap yard with me, and we'll both go to Palo Alto come August."
Sam swallowed hard and nodded. "Yeah, Bobby, that sounds good."
Sam stood in line at the dormitory mail desk, the yellow delivery card in his hand.
It was December and Christmas was coming, but Sam didn't miss the fact that there was no snow one bit. He was too busy to pay at attention to holidays, with finals week starting tomorrow. All week he had watched friends open care packages from home, full of sweets and cards and warm wishes.
Sam had known he wouldn't receive anything like that. And then the little yellow card had appeared in his mailbox, and he joined the line of anxiety-ridden students giddy with stress and hope as they waited. Sam had no idea what to expect when he stepped up to the window and was given a box wrapped in brown paper and twine, a Sioux Falls postage stamp in the corner. Sam smiled. He should have known.
Brady nudged his arm. "Hey, Sammy, whatcha got?"
"Don't know yet. But you aren't stealing any of it!" Sam shoved Brady away and escaped to his room. Thankfully, his roommate was out right now, so Sam could open the box in peace.
There were no homemade cookies or other treats in this box, but there was a shiny Visa gift card, a coat in his size, and a bottle of eggnog tied with ribbon to a half-decent bottle of whiskey.
Tucked under everything was a card, sticky on the bottom just like the grimy surface of Bobby's kitchen table. Inside was a picture of Bobby in a Santa hat standing in front of a bushy pine tree set up in his living room. "I hear the dormitory closes for the holidays. You can stay here anytime you want. Good luck on your finals, not like you need it."
There weren't any Xs or Os or anything sentimental, there didn't need to be. Sam felt a warmth blossom in his chest he thought he had lost for good, during those sleepless nights on the road alone. Dad might have thrown him out, but he still had a family.
He would never have to sleep on a park bench again.
Brady poked his head around the dorm room door. "Hey, Sam! My best buddy!" He paused when he saw the contents of the box, and his face broke into a giant grin. "Man, that is the best care package ever!" He quickly shut the door, eyes fixed on the whiskey. "You know you can get kicked out if the RA sees that, right?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "What, are you offering to hide it for me?"
"Sure." Brady held out his hand, but Sam held the package out of reach.
"I think I can handle it, thanks. But spread the word, the after finals party is on me!"
End
Please review and let me know what you think! There will be another short about Sam during his time at Stanford soon.