Disclaimer:
All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc...
are the property of their respective owners.
The original characters and plot are the property of the author.
The author is in no way associated with the owners,
creators, or producers of any media franchise (though I really really wish Psych was mine).
No copyright infringement is intended. If it were, I would say so.
After all, I have long believed brutal honesty is the best policy,
and yes, that outfit does make you look fat.
As the August wind whipped around his head, dispelling the sticky California heat, Sam Winchester absentmindedly wiped the dried blood off of his cheek and frowned, settling onto the trunk of the Impala. It wasn't fair, he thought, pulling his knees up to his chest and squeezing his eyes shut, (after all, Winchester men do not cry). His dad didn't care what he did or what he wanted to do, the only thing in life for a Winchester was hunting. His heart thumped noisily in his ribcage and Sam bit his lip. All he had ever wanted was for his dad to accept him, but his dad didn't want a son, he wanted a soldier.
The sunlight played across Sam's hard-set face, the quivering lip almost unnoticeable. It was Dean, Sam knew, that his father trusted. Sam may not have wanted to hunt, but if his father wanted to go with him, if his father trusted him... Sam sighed. That would be worth it. Instead, his father trusted Dean. After all, Dean was just like him. Sam felt his heart throb in a familiar way. He would never be good enough, and no matter how hard he tried to change, tried to want this life, he was not a hunter. He shifted and ran a hand through his hair. Sam Winchester was one thing that went against everything a Winchester believed in: he was not a hunter. He didn't like the uncertainty, the open road, the fear, the loneliness...
A sudden thump from nearby made Sam start. After a moment of silence though, he relaxed. This was what living as a hunter was doing to him, he realized, as he settled back onto the car, resting his back against the hot metal and imagining he was somewhere else, somewhere he was happy, with books and friends and a family that loved him for who he was...
Another thump shattered the illusion and Sam flew bolt upright, knowing for sure this time he wasn't imagining things. The bumping sound was coming from inside of the trunk of the car next to him.
Sam gulped, suddenly afraid and very much aware of the fact that his brother and father were still sleeping off the night's hunt, and he hadn't even left a note, to stuck-up in his petulance about his Dad's offhand comment... Stepping off of the Impala, Sam winced as his foot hit the hot pavement.
For a second, he deliberated. Should he go back for his dad...? Memories once more made the decision for him. He could imagine what they would say if it was a false alarm, if he was wrong. And Winchester men don't get scared. He took a step forward just as there was a cracking noise that echoed in the parking lot.
Sam ducked for a moment, picturing his dad's face when he found Sam's body with a bullet through the skull... How would he react? Would he shake his head in regret that if only Sam had been a little bit better...? Then Sam saw the shattered pieces of kicked out taillight and frowned. Something was inside the trunk... He snuck around to the driver's side of the Impala and popped the trunk, ready to retrieve whatever weapons he could and make a stand. As he saw the trunk begin to open and he was on the wrong side, however, he made a split second decision and jumped on top of the other car's trunk to hold it down. He felt it slam shut beneath him. Sam's breath came in short gasps and his muscles tensed as he ran through possibilities in his mind. The hot glare of the sun made him squint as he looked for a way out of this...
A muffled moan-like sound issued from the inside the cursed trunk and Sam felt something pound against the metal beneath him. Okay, so moving was so not an option... Then the sound came again, but this time he could pick out words.
"Excuse me, but could you pretty please with a pineapple and a creamsicle on top get off of the car?" The voice sounded a bit miffed. "Airwolf is coming on in a minute and I promised Gus I would watch it with him 'cause he says I owe him for using his math homework to make a replica of the battle at the end of King Kong. But he's the one who trashed it! And do you have any idea how long it takes to make a paper helicopter?" The voice seemed to have forgotten it was angry at him, and feeling mildly reassured, Sam slid off the trunk, which immediately opened to show a boy a little older than him, blinking owlishly.
"What were you doing in there, anyway?" Sam had to ask as the boy continued to prattle on, jumping from subject to subject with a rapidity that amazed Sam.
"...So I said Rambo is WAY awesomer and I was just in there to practice! So back to what I was saying... What was I saying? Oh yeah! Pineapples..."
Sam stared, fascinated by this perplexing creature. "What were you practicing?"
The boy frowned as if he weren't expecting such an obvious question. "Well, duh! What did it look like I was doing? I was escaping the locked trunk of a car! So which is better, pirates, or ninjas?"
Sam stared at the boy in confusion. "Why were you escaping the locked trunk of a car?"
The boy sent Sam a sideways look that said he was wondering if Sam wasn't quite right up there. "I already told you, I was practicing."
"What?"
"Escaping the locked trunk of a car!"
Fed up with this peculiar boy and unable to hide his curiosity any longer, Sam found himself shouting at the boy. "Why in the world do you need to escape from the locked trunk of a car?"
The boy spoke slowly, as if Sam were just a young child (which Sam didn't realize, to most people he was). "I need to escape from the locked trunk of a car because I do not wish to remain locked in the trunk of a car. That's a bad thing, like melted Pineapple smoothies or anchovy dip."
Sam frowned. "I KNOW! " He over-enunciated back. "I was asking why you would be locked in the trunk of a car."
The boy frowned. "Then why didn't you just say that? If you must know, I was practicing."
Not able to tell if the boy was kidding or not, Sam just stared at him. The boy stared back.
After a great deal of thought, Sam came up with a question he hoped the boy would answer. "Why- in what situation- would you end up getting locked in the trunk of a car?"
The boy shrugged, his brow furrowing for a moment, seemingly in great thought. "I don't know," he finally said. "I guess if I had an angry ex-wife? Maybe if I got kidnapped but, don't tell my dad I said this, being a cop isn't that interesting."
Newly amazed, Sam stared at the boy. "You think getting kidnapped is interesting?"
Without stopping to consider it, the boy shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. It would be like James Bond. I'd be like Bam! and..." The boy noticed the open trunk of the Impala. "Dude, weapons! Are you like a kid super spy? Cross my heart and swear not to tell! Well, except for Gus, and he won't believe me, he doesn't even believe in Rambo!"
Without taking time to consider what he was saying, Sam spoke. "Yeah, I'm with the government. I used to have a license to kill, but it was revoked after some trouble at the Kazakhstan border. I'd tell you what happened, but then I'd have to kill you, and my license has been revoked."
The boy stared at him in amazement. "Dude! Do you mind if I use that one? Wow! A real spy!"
Sam felt himself start to smile. This kid wasn't so bad...
"Shawn!" A voice suddenly bellowed from behind them. "What the hell happened to my tail lights?"
The boy sent him a smile and Sam felt himself grinning back at the boy- Shawn, he corrected himself- as they took off in the opposite direction, Sam only stopping to slam shut the Impala's trunk. After all, how would the cop- Shawn's dad- know that the shotguns were only for rocksalt and silver bullets? And the flamethrower Dean got for his birthday... That would be just as hard to explain.
So that was Sam, Meet Shawn. Who thinks a sequel should be published?