It was a miracle Sam even got out of bed at all the next morning, though it was a Saturday so he slept in until noon. But tonight was the night—the night he and Michelle had plans to go out. Together. As a date. Sam decided instead of calling it off with the news he'd gotten, he would go ahead with it to get his mind off of all the crap that life had thrown at him yesterday. Michelle had offered to drive them, since she was a junior and had her own car. Sam had wanted to be the gentleman and pick her up, but they compromised on him taking the wheel once she got to his house. When Sam had asked her where she wanted to go, Michelle had winked and told him to pick anywhere in the whole damn world—God, she was amazing. Sam certainly thought so. And though Sam had first considered the classic 'dinner and a movie', he finally settled on the perfect spot...

McKinley Point?" Michelle snorted, and Sam's smile fell. Her tone softened as she explained, "Sam, you know that's a make-out spot, right?"

Sam's face burned red and he sputtered, "Well, I—I didn't—I actually got the idea from Mark Sato; he told me it was romantic."

"Yeah, he meant sex."

Sam covered his eyes with his left hand, turning away and moaning in embarrassment. Michelle reassured him that it was a great view, anyway, and they did not have to make out if Sam didn't want to.

The park ended up being even better than Sam had pictured; it was certainly a beautiful spot of nature, overlooking the entire city in all its nine o' clock brilliance. Lights from downtown and the suburbs, added with the full moon's bright beacon, lent a fairytale quality to the night and cast fantastical shadows across the forest behind them. Michelle had allowed Sam to drive (he did have his permit) to the spot, which had taken almost twenty minutes meandering down a confusing road built into the forest. The two were standing, leaning against the hood of the car and admiring the view, Elvis music playing on an oldies station softly from the car's radio. Michelle sighed, content and peaceful. Sam was enjoying it, too, but was currently chewing on his lip and going over if and how he should tell her what had happened the day before. Glancing over at him, Michelle inquired gently, "Sam, what's bothering you?"

Sam smiled absentmindedly and told her it was nothing, but after a stern look from Michelle, he broke down and told her, "I just got some really big news."

Michelle grinned. "Stanford big?"

"Bigger."

She raised an eyebrow, commenting, "That is huge. Spill."

Massaging the back of his neck nervously and stopping soon after because it reminded him of Dean, Sam sighed and plodded on verbally, "Well...this...guy came up to me on my way home from school yesterday and...he...told me I was his brother." He paused, earning from Michelle a curious expression and an urge to continue. "I ran home, thought he was just a grade-A freak, but...when I got home, my parents...kind of told me I was...adopted?"

The reveal came out almost like a question and Michelle just blinked at him. Slowly, she asked, "So...did you talk to your brother? Do you know your biological parents?" She peered at him for a moment. "Are you Jewish?"

Sam snorted, knowing she was joking. "No, as far as I know. But I did meet a man—a man who says he's my biological dad."

Michelle's eyes grew wide, inquiring seriously, "What was he like?"

Sam shrugged, almost sullen at the mention of the man. "He's okay, I guess. He definitely doesn't look like he works an office job, though. I don't know, there's something about him...he looks like he's seen some pretty gruesome stuff, you know?"

Michelle nodded in response to Sam's thoughtful question. "Vietnam?" she suggested.

"Probably," Sam replied, and listened to the quiet chirping of the crickets nearby and the wind whispering through the trees. After a long bout of silence, Sam admitted quietly, "I'm scared," sounding young and almost childish. Michelle wore a pitying expression, but said nothing for fear she would interrupt his sudden candor. "I'm scared, and—and I'm confused, and I don't know how I'm supposed to handle this; I already have a family, I don't need these people barging in and acting like they've forgotten they were the ones who gave me up in the first place. They abandoned me and they just want to pick up right where they left off? Hell no; it won't happen. I'm already 15, and I am so not looking for this drama right now..."

He sighed sharply, glancing over at Michelle for her reaction. She had a slight, hesitant, and adorable lop-sided smile that made Sam laugh out of the blue. "What?" she asked, endearing in her momentary cluelessness.

Her smile spread as Sam explained, "God, this is insane. Not only are my parents not my parents, but I'm whining about my problems to Michelle freaking Benson."

She raised an eyebrow, amused. "Michelle freaking Benson, huh?"

Sam nodded astutely, satisfied with his answer. And, on a whim, Michelle freaking Benson grabbed Sam's jacket and kissed him. Full-on, lip-to-lip, and dizzyingly perfect. Once the two broke away, Sam looked dazed, blinking and a little wobbly, balance-wise. "Wow," he breathed, and Michelle laughed softly, reaching over to turn up the radio. Elvis was on again.

The night slowed from that point, eventually landing with the two sitting in the front seats of the car and looking out at the sleepless city, quite sleepy themselves. The topic they were conversing in tired, worn-out voices was dreams, currently. Namely weird ones. "You know," Sam mumbled, limbs heavy as he rested his arm around Michelle's shoulders next to him, "There's this one dream that I've had since I was really young—like, as far back as I can remember. And in the dream, there's this woman—long blonde hair, like yours—and she's standing over my cradle, singing Beatles songs and calling me Sam-I-Am...and I get the feeling, in the dream...that she's my mother."

Michelle, lids previously drooping, opened her eyes fully then, looking over at Sam in surprise. "Your mother?"

Sam nodded, a sad, nostalgic look in his eyes as he stared out the windshield.

"What do you think happened to her?" Michelle asked, sounding genuinely curious.

Pursing his lips in thought, Sam took a moment before answering, "I don't know for sure. But I feel somehow like she's...gone now. For good."

Though a chill ran down her spine at his words, Michelle suggested, "Maybe your dad just divorced her," almost hopefully, as opposed to any alternative.

"Maybe," Sam murmured, wishing he could believe but knowing somehow that she was wrong.

SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN

At the moment, neither John nor Dean could focus on the hunt like they normally did. Branches scratched at their heads and the full moon shone onto the forest's path, signaling the perfect setting for a werewolf hunt—but the only topic of conversation for most of the night was Samuel Winchester. Sniffling lightly from the slight chill in the woods, Dean looked up at the sky as he inquired, "What if it's not in the woods tonight?" That night was crucial, as it was the last time the creature would show up until the next month.

"Dean, trust me on this—it's in the woods," John told his son tiredly, before glancing up at the sky and asking, "So what did you find out about Sammy?"

Boots crunching against the early-autumn leaves, the two both felt the wind change, the warm feeling of home when Sam was mentioned. Fighting a grin, Dean shifted his hands on his shotgun and replied, "He just goes after everything, Sam does. Straight A's, honor roll, chess, literary club, orchestra...the kid's a genius, Dad."

John looked thoughtful for a moment, slowing his gait and saying, "I just hope he'll be able to keep up with us on a hunt." Dean's heart sank a little at the thought of the 15 year-old getting hurt or shooting a gun or moving from town to town to town...

He mumbled a half-hearted, "Yeah," and wondered what his nerdy little brother was doing right then.

SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN

Michelle, to Sam's surprise, began to fall asleep only a few minutes after his confession about his dreams—and her head was resting against his chest. He blushed, considering setting her against her seat's head rest, but deciding against it. In that moment, everything seemed right in the world; the only sounds were of the forest's nocturnal song, and Sam's chest rose and fell comfortably against Michelle's long, blonde hair and soft eyelashes. A sense of peace and calm that Sam hadn't felt in a long time settled in, and he closed his eyes for a second to take it all in. But nothing gold can stay, and this was a golden moment, indeed. Sam felt Michelle begin to shift, but not in a way one moved after having fallen asleep—quick, jerky movements. Aggressive.

"Michelle?" he inquired sleepily, looking down at her as she broke away sharply. And what he saw—Michelle's kind, doe-brown eyes now glowed a pale blue, her teeth elongated and terrifying, and Michelle herself growled inhumanly at Sam. Scrambling away with his heart in his throat and panting wildly, Sam cried, "Michelle?!" but got no response but the creature's constant guttural snarling. She only stayed back tensely for a few seconds before lunging toward a screaming Sam Davenport. It was all a blur, Sam falling out of the car and stumbling away as Michelle—or whatever she was—approached him with her animalistic and frightening powder blue eyes following him like he was prey. He probably was at that moment.

And suddenly, damp grass clenched in his hands and wind tearing through his hair, Sam heard a shot ring out across the clearing, followed by frantic yelling and heavy footfalls. Coming into view, Sam recognized his supposed father and brother and leapt to his feet, shaken. Michelle, still monstrous in appearance and action, side-stepped around the car, teeth bared and eyes trained on the man and Dean. Both men boldly held out aimed shotguns, to which Sam shouted, "No! Don't shoot!" They seemed to notice Sam then, but after glancing over at him, the two gave chase to Michelle, running her into the woods while Sam, confused and overwhelmed, followed them.

"Wait!" he called, pushing branches aside and feeling a gnawing sense of hopelessness grow in his stomach. Only a few yards ahead of Sam, the two men stopped, staring and pointing their guns at something. Sam began to catch up then, hearing as he came closer the frustrated growls coming from the mouth of the small cave in the face of the rocky cliff straight ahead. Remembering Michelle's soft breathing as she fell asleep and the way her nose crinkled when she laughed gave Sam strength to shout then, "Hey! Get away from her!" At that moment, it didn't matter what Michelle was—it only mattered that Sam get her out of this alive. Though his father kept his eyes and gun trained on the cave, Dean looked over at Sam with a pitying expression on his face. 'No,' Sam thought, 'I don't need your pity.' Clenching his fists and setting his jaw, Sam called out, determined, "Her name is Michelle, and you have no right to chase her like this."

"Sam, you know something's wrong with her," the older of the two men calmly said. "And we happen to know for a fact that she's killed before."

"You're lying," Sam sneered, but painfully doubted his own words.

Dean's sympathetic, vibrantly green eyes were still on Sam, and he explained then, "Sam, Michelle is what you'd call a werewolf. Sounds crazy, I know, but it's true. Why else do you think she's like this? It's a full moon tonight." Despite himself, Sam gazed up at the sky. Damn it, Dean was right. Why did he have to be right? But that didn't mean that Michelle was...what, a werewolf?

"Bullshit," Sam called, forcing himself to sound defiant and confident even though he was scared as hell.

The man who was apparently his father shot back, "Bullshit or not, this girl is a monster who's killed 3 already and will kill again unless we stop her."

Heart pounding, Sam exhaled testily and replied, "'Stop' as in kill her."

"Yes."

The response was surprisingly cool-headed and completely tolerating of such a horrible act, making Sam take a step back out of shock. The man, eyes never having left the mouth of the cave, cocked his shotgun, setting off something inside Sam so that he leapt toward them, only to be stopped by Dean's thick arms and rough hands. Struggling urgently against Dean holding him back, Sam cried with tears in his throat, "Don't you dare! Get away from her, you hear me?!" Limbs flailing and pushing to break free, Sam felt, for the first time in his short life, true, pure, real desperation.

Then the shot came.

It was loud, louder than he'd ever heard. He thought he might've gone deaf until he heard Dean whispering that it was going to be okay. Fuck no, it wasn't.

Sam's body was almost numb now, as he realized that Michelle freaking Benson, sweet smile and sarcastic jokes and incredible understanding and all...was dead.

"Sammy?" Dean asked, voice breaking and eyes wide.

Sam's chest began to heave, breaths loud and panicked. "Don't call me that," he whispered dangerously, eyes red-hot as tears streamed onto his cheeks. Able to break away from Dean finally, Sam took steady, careful steps away from him. Voice heavy with the anger he felt and choked with tears, Sam screamed, "I hate you!" His eyes were wild, bloodshot, and accusing; the man and Dean simply looked sympathetic—not even a modicum of regret showed. Sam tore out of the woods, finding his rage and pain and sorrow pushed him to run all the way home without looking back once. Good. He hoped he would never have to look back again.