A/N: Thank you to my beta Tametiger! However I play right up until posting. I finished last minute touch ups on this early, so enjoy and let me know what you think :)
Chapter 1
Trust No One
In his small family, Sam was the odd duck.
While most parents would smugly sport the "Proud Parent of the (fill in the "school-of-the-week" here) Honor Roll Student", Sam's steady stream of straight A's and 4.0 average would be rewarded with a shoulder squeeze and the occasional quizzical stare from his father.
Sam knew his father loved him and respected Sam's scholastic accomplishments, but John Winchester, for the most part, tended to ignore Sam's grades while he rewarded Sam's "other", more unusual, accomplishments in more overt ways.
Since he could talk, Sam had been learning Latin at home. At that young age, he didn't know why it was so important that he learned the language, but he liked the attention he got from his father when he successfully conjugated Latin verbs. Once, when he was eight, he overheard his father and brother talking about their most recent Latin lesson.
"Dad…it's amazing. Did you see how he recited the passage? He had it down after two lessons. Two. It took me twice as long to get that passage down."
Sam felt a grin spread across his face at his brother's compliment.
He hoped Dean would never learn that he had cheated…well not cheat, not really. He had a teacher once who told him that he had a photographic memory and explained to Sam that he wasn't cheating; his brain just had an ability to take "pictures" of things and store those photos until Sam needed the information.
Sam asked her if everyone could do that; her slow shake of the head confirmed his thoughts. She clarified her meaning – some people were better at certain things than other people - and talked about Mozart being a child prodigy in music, named others who excelled in Sports and academics and explained that they didn't cheat; they were just able to perform feats that came more naturally to them to other people.
"He's got a talent for Latin." His father said, "I think that very soon he is going to be on the same level as you Dean."
Dean snorted in response.
"Give him a little more time Dad and he will be teaching you."
While they both chuckled over this, Sam quietly crept back to his room as something warm and fuzzy settled in his stomach. He could hear the admiration in his brother's voice and the quiet pride in his father's. After that lesson Dean referred to, he had lain in the bed as he recounted the lesson and in a flash he had a perfect image of the words from the lesson in his mind. In his mind, he had studied the "picture" of the lesson and repeated the words to himself until he fell asleep.
When Sam turned nine, he won the school spelling bee, easily able to spell complex words while the older fellow competitor's struggled with words that Sam could spell in his sleep.
When he proudly told his father about how a local journalist was coming to interview them for an article in the local paper, he expected a hug, praise, even a simple "I'm proud of you." He beamed when his father squeezed his shoulder slightly in wordless approval before he turned toward his oldest son.
"Dean." His father quietly spoke his older brother's name and with a nod Dean grasped Sam's hand.
"Time to go, Sammy."
Within an hour, the small family was packed up into the Impala and on their way to the next town. Silently, Sam wondered who was going to meet the reporter to explain how he could reach them so he could still interview them.
The first time Sam, age eleven, successfully recited an exorcism in Latin with no error's, John affectionately ruffled Sam's hair while exclaiming "That's my Boy!", promptly called Bobby, Pastor Jim, Caleb and even Bill Harvell to boast with a grin that lasted all night long.
When he was twelve, he hit the bull's-eye with a gun - clearly Sam didn't have his brother's ability with guns; Dean hit his first bulls-eye when he was nine - his father and older brother Dean simultaneously fist-pumped the air and John reached for his phone while Dean yelled "Way to go!" loud enough to startle some birds out of a nearby tree.
As the birds flew swiftly in to the air, Dean waited for Sam to lock the safety before he jumped on the younger Winchester's back and wrapped his arms affectionately around Sam's neck; "Knew you could do it, Sammy!"
When he devoured books on lore, legends and local histories, John gave an approving nod; when he curled up in the back seat of the family car reading poetry, Shakespeare or any other non-supernatural-related book as the Impala roared down the road to the next job, Sam could feel his father's stare, as if he was a challenging puzzle where pieces were missing and there was no picture on the box to guide its completion.
His love of learning mystified his father because, if it was not useful for the hunt, John Winchester couldn't see the point in bothering.
The simple fact was Sam enjoyed learning and he enjoyed school.
He enjoyed the classes, the content and, most especially, enjoyed the satisfaction he felt when he got an "A" on a paper or test. He worked hard to keep his grades high and, when out of school, tried to stay ahead of the current curriculum.
When Sam was in Grade Seven, he read at College level, mastered the quadratic equation and had taught himself the basic applications for calculus. Sam was determined that the Hunter lifestyle was not going to hold him back in any scholastic areas, for him, school was the closest to normal he would get and he hung on to the experience tighter than a toddler hung on to a forbidden toy.
Dean always approached school, and any subsequent assignments related to school, with the "band-aid" approach, otherwise known as "get it over with as quickly as possible".
Sam knew Dean was just as smart as he was. Dean could memorize a particularly intricate Latin exorcism just as fast as Sam, could recite various ways to determine what type of supernatural creature they were up against as well as the top two most effective ways to eliminate said creature.
However, when it came to schoolwork, Dean put in a minimum of effort, preferred instead to spend as much time as possible cleaning their guns, practicing the drills that their father set up for them or, if he had spare time, trying out his collection of "pick-up lines" - Dean's collection was vast and bold enough to cause Sam's cheeks to redden in embarrassment on a near constant basis - on any female that caught his eye.
For Sam, the most difficult challenge with the merry go round of educational institutions was not the curriculum, it was social aspects.
Friends.
Fitting in.
Belonging.
With each move, it got a little harder to leave behind friends, and got a more difficult to make new ones. Although it was only February, this was his fourth school since the school year began and he supposed he should be accustomed to the continuous changing of schools, but for some reason, this change was the toughest.
Sam focused on moving forward, rather than looking back. He tried to be optimistic and found qualities about each school that helped to make his transition smoother.
Some schools had great programs that challenged him- like joining the Mathletes in Nebraska. He had been really good and the team thought that he would help them get to the state championship level, but they left town before that happened; his dad and Dean went on to the next hunt and Sam went on to the next school.
The last school had been great; he had been invited to join the school track team and the coach had been impressed with his long legs and stamina. Little did the coach know, Sam had spent his whole life on the run, it was easy and familiar and their father had him and his brother on a set training schedule that often had Sam, not only running but doing it in combat boots
"Sam if you need to run, then run hard and run fast," this had been repeated to Sam since before he even knew that monsters and their like existed. "There will be no time to stop and change into shoes. God damn it, Son, if you have to, you run in your bare feet."
A five hundred meter run on an even school track in sweat pants and good shoes had been easy when compared to the drills his father had developed for his sons.
It only took one day to find the upside to Sunnydale High.
It was the school's library.
Due to the nature of the "family business", Sam's life was mix of boot camp (his father was an ex-Marine), Crime 101 (his brother was a near-expert forger and Sam could pick almost any lock while their father ran credit card scams and impersonated a myriad of law enforcement officials) and dangerous (not many other seventeen year olds knew how to suture a variety of bullet and knife wounds). From his earliest memory, this was the life that Sam knew – transient, always with one foot out the door, governed by a set of rules and protocols set by his father.
The first rule was absolute.
Trust. No. One.
Besides their family, Sam knew of few exceptions.
Over the years, if John thought it applied to their lifestyle, new rules and protocols were added.
A few years previously, John had gotten particularly lucky after a successful night of pool hustling and he treated Sam and Dean to a night at the movies. It had been action packed, one of those cop/buddy-comedy movies and they had all had a good laugh. In one part of the movie, a fellow cop was being tested – he had to walk into a room and with no more than a few seconds worth of glancing around, his eyes were covered and he was asked to describe the room in as much detail as possible.
Trust John Winchester to find some way to turn a cop comedy into yet another training exercise for the brothers.
From then on, no matter what type of environment, John would growl out his "close your eyes" command and one of the brothers had to describe their environment as much as possible until it was second nature to note the number and type of cards parked nearby, when outdoors, the position of the exits in any room and a good description of nearby pedestrians or customers in a business, when indoors.
It didn't take long for Sam to habitually maintain a constant awareness of where he was or who he was with.
Half-way through his first day at Sunnydale High, Sam had a free period and was looked for a quiet place to study for the SATs.
He would never tell Dean this, because he wanted to avoid the typical Dean response ("What do you need SAT's for? It's not like you are going to College!"). He took every opportunity to study- as often as they moved, he needed to study – and, contrary to what his brother chose to believe, Sam wanted to go to College.
When he first walked into the library (one interior entrance, exterior emergency exit located against north wall and another door that seemed to lead to a small, windowed office) forty-five minutes ago, it looked like a normal school library; a little on the small side, but it was quiet and offered a lot of natural light. He asked the librarian, (male, 5'11, approximately 185 pounds with neatly-trimmed brown hair and glasses) where the computers were located and got an earful about "those hideous contraptions!" in a British accent followed by a shudder and an introduction ("Rupert Giles- School Librarian!"). When Sam told Mr. Giles what he needed, he was shown to the appropriate section. Mr. Giles told Sam to let him know when he was ready to check out the books.
Sam thanked him politely, but he would not check any books out. He'd learned his lesson a few years previously and still felt guilty when he had thought about an abandoned stack of books that he had once checked out from the Houston Central High School library but failed to return due a suspicious sheriff who asked too many questions which led to a hasty, but necessary departure they had made one night.
Such was their life.
Sam wanted to wait to return the books the next day but his dad said there was no time. It killed him to leave them behind as he had to make do with a hastily scrawled note: "Please return to the Houston Central High School library".
He hoped that the motel manager or housekeeper would find the stack, but still there was no way of knowing if the books made it back.
Dean, of course, knew how much that bothered Sam. Occasionally, he reminded Sam about the books; "One Day, Sammy, you are going to get a bill on those books" and, Sam, genius that he was, learned his lesson and never checked out another book.
Being the annoying older brother he was, Dean noticed and commented on it "Jeeze Sammy- if you want books, just take the Damn things!".
But Sam wouldn't consider stealing one either. Sam never stole a book – too much of his life involved stealing or scamming – Sam drew the line at books. It was Rule Number Two in Sam's private list.
Rule Number One was never skipping class. To Sam, school was sacred and he never willingly abused this privilege or took it for granted…he missed so much school as it was. Life with Dean and Dad ensured that Sam's attendance at school was spotty at best; therefore, once Sam walked through the doors of a school, he made it a point to stay until the school day was over.
Sam shelved his book, looked at his watch and noticed that he still had about seven minutes before the bell would ring. Perhaps, after his last class he could come back to the library and read.
He wandered around until he found the Classics section, taking his time as he quickly perused the labels on the spine of each book. As he scanned the rows, he idly thought about Dean and his Dad, off on a hunt and would not be back until later this night.
Sam thought about picking up a few items to make a meal on his way home.
Carrots, broccoli …hmmm "A Tale of Two Cities"…cauliflower, chicken? "The Man in the Iron Mask"…stir-fry? Could he make a stir-fry in the microwave?..."The Count of Monte Cristo" (been awhile since he'd read that one)…"Dracula" …"Vampire Slayers in the 17th Century"…maybe a spicy peanut sauce on the stir-fry…"A Slayer's Guide to Weaponry"…or a salad with...
"What the hell?"
Sam regarded the two volumes that were side by side on the end of the shelf; they did not look like the classics and he figured it must be a part of some kind of joke. Unable to resist, he pulled the first book from the shelf, slim, with an old, worn leather cover that looked as if it would fall apart and the words "Vampire Slayer's in the 17th Century (Vol 4)" embossed in gold on the front.
He opened the cover and, to his surprise, there was no publisher's mark or copyright page. It looked more like a handwritten journal of sorts and appeared genuine – it would be difficult to duplicate both the almost transparent quality of the paper or the careful old-fashioned script inked by the author.
This book was not unlike a multitude of others that Sam had come into contact with while he assisted his father with research.
Lore and legends were often described in journals such as the one in his hand.
What was it?
Sam turned the book over and saw the faint indentations on the cover…the words were not embossed, which made it difficult to make out the words. Sam walked over to the side of the room, where light came through the windows near the ceiling. He ran his fingers over the words.
It read: A Watcher's Guide.
What is a watcher? What are they watching? What was this book? Sam had never seen anything like it. The bell rang and Sam walked over to the shelf to place the book on the shelf, and then hesitated. He knew he should put the book back and get to the next class (Calculus) but Sam didn't want to do either.
For the first time, in a long time, Sam was tempted to break his two rules.
His dilemma was solved by the sound of footsteps and hastily, he shoved the book back on to the shelf.
Mr. Giles smiled at Sam. "Do you need anything else?"
"No, no, I need to get to class anyway" Sam replied.
He tried not to look, but his eyes were drawn like a magnet to the book. Damn…it was not flush with the shelf and looked out of place. Perhaps the librarian wouldn't notice and the book would still be there after class ended.
"Well, if you need any assistance in the future please let me know."
"Thank you, Sir" Sam said. "I should go. Oh! What time do you close?"
Mr. Giles peered over his glasses as Sam, eyebrows raised in surprise.
"I-I suppose I am open until four, but no one-"
"Thank you! I will be back at three." Sam said the words over his shoulder as he turned and walked away.
"-no one ever comes in after school." Mr. Giles finished to himself.
The librarian looked at the shelf and automatically he reached out to push a book back so it would be flush with the shelf, but, as his fingertips touched the soft leather, he gasped quietly. He pulled the book off of the shelf and ran his hands over the embossed letters on the leather book much like Sam had done just a few minutes before.
"What on earth…" He looked back at the shelf and his eyes widened when he saw the other book.
He glanced back at the doors that Sam had just left through.
"Oh, drat that girl! Note to self…" he muttered, unaware of the thick volume that had been placed on the lowest shelf. "…don't punish the slayer for being late to training by making her shelve books!"
Sam shifted, acutely conscious of the smallness of his desk and pulled his long legs back as the American History teacher paced back and forth in front of him. He knew he should be paying attention to the teacher's lecture, but he was distracted by the two books he had seen earlier in the library while one word 'Watcher' repeated in his thoughts.
He was intrigued, excited and dismayed all at once.
The researcher in him loved the idea of discovering an unknown fact, the Winchester in him wanted to know more and the sensible part of him questioned if his brother and father were right all along – he was a Hunter after all.
Again, he slid his eyes up to the clock, uncharacteristically relieved to see that fifteen minutes remained until the end of the day. Uncomfortable, he shifted again in his seat and caused his desk to move. His pencil slid off the top of the desk and he watched as it rolled under the chair of the teenager seated in the row across from him. Earlier the same classmate had loaned Sam a textbook and Sam tried to think of his name as the kid handed him back the pencil.
Sam looked at the kid's hands and noticed his nails were coated with black nail polish. Oz, Sam remembered. The kid's name was Oz.
Finally, the bell rang and Sam tried to stem the anticipation he felt. He returned the textbook back to Oz, thanked him for the loan and he headed toward the library.
Mr. Giles was not at the front desk and the library was quiet. Quickly, Sam strode over to the Classics section and reached the shelf were he had the left the Slayer volumes.
It was not there.
Sam hunched his shoulders and stooped to get a closer look at the shelf. He located the Dracula book, but the two volumes that had occupied his thoughts and sparked his curiosity were gone.
What happened to the books?
His brain raced through a few scenarios and he settled on the two most obvious reasons: either he imagined the books or someone took the books. Sam had never been accused of having an over-active imagination therefore, with the first option ruled out, Sam deliberated over the second.
Who removed the books? And why?
His eyes narrowed and he chewed on the inside of his bottom lip as he leaned against the wall while he studied the shelf before him. He scanned the titles on the shelves as he thought about the missing books. Their absence (and his Winchester gut) told him they were important.
He was about to leave when his eyes glanced at the bottom of the shelf across from him. He couldn't see the spines of any of the books on the shelf except the one book that was too large for the shelf, it barely fit and protruded over the edge of the shelf.
Sam lips curved, he could identify with being too big and out of place.
He reached down and his hands grasped the thick book, the cover was a dark, russet brown and smooth, worn by many years of use. Sam held the book, inhaled its faint musty odor and felt at home. Just like Bobby's journals. Gently, he turned the book over and ran his fingers over the lettering, savoring each word: A WATCHERS GUIDE -The Slayer's Arsenal.
He was so absorbed in the book, he had no idea how long he stood against the wall. A minute? Ten? Half hour? As usual, once Sam became immersed in a book, the world fell away, an ability which helped him survive the tedious road trips as his family moved from one town and one hunt to the next. Dean had his music; for Sam, as long as he had his books, time sped along.
In each town, he hunted for a buy/sell/trade store. To avoid the books being tossed out in the trash - along with the endless bags of cold fries and fast food containers - Sam learned to protect his books. He would sit in the back seat and kept the books under the seats in front of him. He didn't mind the back; he sat sideways in the seats, laid his legs across along the back seats and rested with his back against the door. He read anything he could - fiction, non-fiction, mystery, action, adventure… he even read romance (he was no snob).
He didn't notice the voices at first; he became aware of his surroundings gradually. The natural light that streamed in from the windows near the ceiling had faded. Annoyed, he angled his body and his eyes squinted to compensate. Uncomfortable after standing in one position for such a long time, he shifted his weight.
Then there were the voices and, appalled at his lack of awareness, Sam realized he was not alone.
"…a little discretion is all I ask; be aware of the where the books belong. Someone could have found them." Sam recognized the soft British accent of Mr. Giles.
"Well…I was tired. You had me training later than usual and I still had to patrol." A girl's voice this time, young, around his age, Sam guessed. "Can you blame me Giles? Don't answer that!" She said the last part quickly.
Sam peered around the shelf in front of him to get a look at the girl. He leaned further and caught a glimpse of a blonde ponytail. Judging by her height (5'1 maybe, but no taller than 5'3, blonde hair), Sam guessed she would be about thirteen, but, even from the back, he could tell she was older. She wore black pants, the kind girls used for workouts that fit snugly over her backside and a gray tank top. She reached for one of the books off the cart and Sam admired the lean, toned muscles of her arms (and other body parts).
She may have been little, but Sam suspected that the she was stronger than she appeared since her arms had muscle definition that a personal trainer would envy. She held the book up and waved it in front of the librarian's face.
"It not like anyone uses this library! No one is ever here!" she exclaimed.
"That is not the point. Buffy, I gave you a task and I expected you to do it properly. This was irresponsible and…I-I expect more from you Buffy." The Librarian shook his head sadly.
"Aww Giles," said Buffy, "I'm sorry. Really I am. Look at this face. Isn't this the face of sorry?" The girl hung her head and pointed to her face. She tilted her head and looked at Giles and blinked. Mr. Giles' lips twitched.
"Really Giles. Consider me repentant-girl. I really am sorry. But – books? Ugh. Can't you just make me do flips? Ooooh… I could do flips! How many? Ten?"
Sam's eyes widened as he watched the girl start to flip backwards, one flip after another, always her feet landing neatly in the same place. When she was done, she was barely winded. She looked at Giles.
"Was ten good? I can do more if you want."
"Buffy please!" Giles protested, holding out his palm to forestall the girl and, losing his battle with himself, he gave an unwilling laugh. "Enough. Shelving books was your penance for being tardy to training for two weeks! Two weeks Buffy! I cannot stress how…"
"…important it is for me to be vigilant with my duties…blah blah blah. I heard you the first twenty-five times Giles." Buffy interjected.
"Buffy, now is not the time to be so-so cavalier!"
Sam looked at his watch, his smile at watching the exchange between the teen and the librarian faded. It was 4:30 and he needed to hustle if he still wanted to grab food and be back at the motel before five. His Dad called every day at 5:00 (AM and PM) to check in him when he was away overnight and Sam had to be there when the phone rang. It was Winchester Protocol Number One, always be there when the call came in, because if there was no call…well then it was time for Winchester Protocol Number Two; call in the cavalry -otherwise known as Bobby Singer.
He had to go.
"...still need to patrol tonight." The girl named Buffy finished.
Patrol? What could she mean?
Reluctantly, Sam took a deep breath and stepped away from the shelves, into the librarian's sight (back to the wall with three long, narrow windows and a skylight above him).
"Umm…sorry to interrupt, but I…" quicker than Sam could blink the girl did a sideways flip, turning her body in midair and landed in between Sam and Mr. Giles. She shifted her weight, balanced on the balls of her feet and raised her fists protectively in front of her. Sam paused and looked down at her.
"Who are you? Why are you spying on us?" She tilted her head to look up at him. Sam resisted the urge to pat her on the head but couldn't help but wonder what her reaction would be if he did. He didn't hide the grin that spread across his face. She was so tiny!
Buffy narrowed her eyes.
"Start talking." She snapped.
"I'm Sam. It's my first day here at school. I lost track of time reading back here and just realized I need to get back…home" Sam finished lamely. Home…if you could call that moldy motel room home.
"Humph" said Buffy, but she relaxed her stance a little and Sam felt it was safe to move.
"I wasn't spying. I only just stopped reading a minute ago. You know how it is when you get lost in a good book, everything just…" The girl dropped her fists and looked at Sam like he had just sprouted tentacles. Sam looked at Mr. Giles, who was nodding.
"Yes, yes" he agreed "I know that feeling well. Everything around you fades until it is just you and the story." Giles and Sam shared a smile, Buffy snorted and both males looked at her.
"Giles! Time!" Buffy tapped her wrist.
"Right, right. Well, young man…er…Sam, thank you for stopping by but we are closing" He ushered Sam out of the door.
As he walked away, he heard Giles' voice say, "No! Not so fast young lady. First, we will work with the daggers."
Sam chuckled to himself as he jogged out of the school back to the motel. This town, he thought to himself, just gets better and better.
He had friends in Sunnydale who were playing their own small part in his plans - plans that had been decades in the making.
Phase One – free The Master, who had been trapped there for more than fifty years. He made it a point to stop by once a decade to catch up on old times with his old friend.
It had been eight years since his last visit. Time to return to Sunnydale and check on the boy…
A/N: Looking for a beta for some later chapters. Anyone interested? Will try to post Chapter 2 on Sunday, then I am going on a cruise :)
Stay Tuned…
