Disclaimer: I do not own anything Supernatural, it is all property of the CW11 Network, and whatnot, so don't sue me, please.
Chapter 2
Drill Sergeant Mike Goodman let out a small sigh as he stared out at his newest batch of recruits here at Parris Island.
It had been a good three weeks since they'd all arrived.
As he scanned the many nearly shaved heads, his eyes zeroed in on the tall young man who was holding one of his fellow recruits ankles while the man was doing his crunches.
As Goodman could recall, the recruit he was currently eyeing was Sam,
Sam Winchester, with his head shorn of it's once shaggy mop of silky, chocolate brown locks, clad in a standard Marine recruit garb of a plain military green t-shirt, Woodland Marpat trousers, and boots.
Three weeks and this kid was already in total equilibrium with the tough, warrior's way of life here at Boot Camp, hell, it had seemed this kid had fully acclimated to his new environment the first night. On top of that, he'd made a boatload of buddies in the weeks that had followed.
It was like he'd been born for the Corp.
As he gazed at the young man who was secretly impressing him enough for consideration of recomendation to Special Forces training, Goodman remembered the night when the recruits had first arrived and were marched to the phones for their mandatory phone call to their loved ones back home, informing them of their safe arrival to Boot Camp.
The recruits had all lined up neatly to use the phones. All, save for one tall young man with a shaggy hair.
Samuel Winchester.
He'd stood a little ways apart from everyone else and had immediately caught the attention of Mike Goodman.
The Drill Sergeant had immediately descended on the young man, ready to tear him a new one for breaking formation.
WHAT ARE YOU DOING OUT OF FORMATION RECRUIT?" Asked Goodman loudly, his eyes hard as he leered at the young man.
He'd expected the new recruit to flinch and start stammering out an answer like he'd seen so many new recuits do in his nearly fifteen years as a Drill Sergeant.
So it was a bit of a shock to him when the tall, moppy haired young man kept his eyes front and answered him in perfect military fashion.
" This Recruit can't contact his family. There is no permanant address or phone number sir."
At this, Goodman was taken aback for a moment before he spared a glance to the other recruits before stepping closer to Sam and addressing the young recruit just a little more quietly.
" What do you mean recruit?" He asked.
" This recruit's family moves around alot, never stays in one place because of this recruit's father's job sir. They've most likely moved to a new town by now and... This recruit's family specifically requested that he not contact them. If it's not to much to ask, this recruit wishes to adhere to that request sir." Answered Sam, keeping his voice steady and strong with every fiber of his will because inside, he felt like a Wendigo was clawing his heart to shreds. His eyes burned but, he blinked back the tears of anguish and kept his face stoic.
With his brow knitting in confusion and concern for a fraction of a second, Goodman grabbed Sam by his arm and firmly tugged the recruit to the corner so that they could speak privately.
" What the hell's goin on with you Recruit?" Asked Goodman.
" Permission to be frank sir?" Asked Sam.
" Go ahead." Answered Goodman, a pair of deep moss green eyes immediately met his, the bone deep sadness and near abject misery that these eyes held within them was enough to break through the Drill Sergeant's hardened emotional defenses and made Goodman feel a small pang in his heart for just a moment as Sam spoke.
" My father told me that, if I wanted to go, I'd have to stay gone and never come back. And I have no way of contacting him or my brother Sir." Said Sam then, he averted his gaze to the floor for a second before once again meeting Goodman's gaze, moss green eyes hardening as he spoke.
" May this Recruit call his priest instead sir?" He asked, now back to Military fashion once again.
Mike Goodman found himself stunned into silence but, years of training quickly helped recover his composure in a split second.
" That would be satisfactory recruit. NOW GET IN LINE AND DO SO!" Barked Goodman.
" YES SIR!" Answered Sam before he quickly obeyed the order and rejoined the line to one of the phones.
Mike Goodman snapped out of his stroll down memory lane and immediately swooped down on his recruits, yelling at the top of his lungs for them to move their ass's.
Sam pulled Greg, the recruit whom he'd been helping with crunches to his feet and gave the other recruit a small grin before running of to join the formation as the unit set off on what would most likley be a many mile jog with Sergeant Goodman leading the way.
Sam couldn't help but be amazed that a full 21 days had passed since he'd arrived here at Parris Island and quiet frankly, he didn't mind being here, didn't mind it at all.
As he ran in perfect sinc with the rest of the recruits, Sam too, remembered his first night here at Parris Island.
He remembered his one and only phonecall... to Pastor Jim's answering machine. Sam had known full well that the Pastor was actually out of the country, visiting friends and helping out fellow hunters in Britain.
He'd said he wouldn't be back for a good five months. By then, Sam's 91 days of Boot Camp would be long finished.
" This is Pastor James Murphy, I'm not in right now so, just leave a message after the beep and God Bless."
" This is Recruit Winchester. I have arrived safely at Parris Island. Please do not send any food or bulky items to me in the mail. I will contact you in 3 to 5 days by postcard with my new address. Thankyou for your support, goodbye for now." Sam had said quickly, by some miracle he'd fit it all in before the beep sounded.
Three weeks had passed by since that night and Sam couldn't help but wonder as he ran, where were his father and brother? Where we they okay? Where they out there kicking supernatural ass? Were they still mad at him for leaving them like he had? Would they figure out where he was if by some fluke they found out he wasn't safely in California attending Standford University?
All of these questions swirled around in his head but, there were two clear questions that stood out above all in his mind.
" What did the future hold for him once boot camp was over?
Would he be able to survive what would come?
Meanwhile, in Boulder, Colorado...
A sleek black 1967 Chevy Impala rumbled down the road, carrying two passengers.
From where he sat behind the wheel, John Winchester was only half focused on driving.
The rest of his mind was focused chiefly on the absent member of his family.
Sammy.
His youngest child.
To think, it had already been a full three weeks since he'd watched his youngest son walk out the door. Three weeks since he'd seen his son walk away from his family and the hunter's way of life.
A small, almost imperceptable sigh escaped the oldest Winchester.
Three weeks had passed by since he'd told his youngest that if he wanted to go, he would have to stay gone.
Naturally, a part of John regretted ever say those harsh words to his youngest.
Everytime John closed his eyes, he'd see Sam's face, the expression it had held after his father's ultimatum registered to him.
There was shock, which was then replaced with despair and aguish, and then, it had turned into a look of stubborn determination warring with bone deep sadness as he gave a mute nod before he'd bolted upstairs, packed a bag and then stormed out the door without looking back. But John had caught sight of the sparkle of tears shining in Sam's eyes as he'd all but run past him out the door.
John would've continued to think about that night when Dean's voice broke him out of his musings.
" Hey Dad, there's a diner up ahead, we can grab some lunch."
John turned to see the stoic face of his oldest son staring back at him.
The eldest Winchester son had a good few days of stubble gracing his cheeks, his eyes were dim and he sat with dejection radiating from his very being.
Dean held his father's gaze for a few seconds before turning his eyes front. Though his eyes were directed at the asphault road the windsheild framed, he didn't see it.
All he saw was Sammy.
His baby brother Sammy.
In the weeks following Sam's departure, Dean had tried in vain to act as normal as possible, to put up a front to hide just how shattered he really was.
His father had seen right through the act but didn't bring up the subject that was like a bleeding wound over Dean's heart.
In the following days, both remaining Winchesters all but threw themselves into any hunt they could find.
Both desperately trying to keep their minds off their missing member. Both men to stubborn and prideful to head off to Palo Alto and see if Sam had reached Stanford University in one peice.
As they headed over to the diner for lunch, they were totally oblivious to where their Sam really was, and what he'd gotten himself into.
On top of that, the only thing that knew the truth about Sam's real whereabouts was an answering machine sitting on a desk in a cluttered office in an empty house that stood next to an old Chapel in Blue Earth, Minnesota.
Only an answering machine knew the truth about the youngest Winchester's real fate at the moment.
Only a machine knew.