Author's Note: Extra long chapter tonight, kids. Only one more chapter left, then the eppy. Thanks for sticking with it!
emily
As Sam watched Dean, he realized something wasn't right.
Something had happened in the woods, something between John and Dean that Sam had completely missed. He felt like he was on the outside of an inside joke- like they knew a secret about him. It was the way Dean and John shared guarded looks when they thought he didn't see, and the way they seemed to have developed a sudden unfriendliness towards Linda. Sam knew Linda felt it too, he could tell from her questioning glances, but Sam was just as puzzled as she.
Something wasn't right.
The walk home from the woods was quiet and tense and eventually Sam stopped trying to offer his help in researching the land. Their secrecy made him feel useless and even more in the way. John's face was set hard and he wouldn't even look at him, while Dean's face held sorrow, as if he'd just run over Sam's puppy. Confused and irritated by both, he settled for slowing his pace and shutting his mouth.
He was starting to trust Dean. Bits and pieces of memories provided strong emotional ties, and Sam found himself relaxing more and more around Dean. He was still uncomfortable at certain times, like when they accidentally touched or were left alone together with nothing to talk about. But Dean seemed like a strong, caring person- the type of guy Sam would want for a big brother. He forced himself to relax and wait, hoping the full return of his past would put him at ease.
When they'd returned to the bed and breakfast, things only got worse. Linda was bidding farewell to the Bradleys and called Sam over to do the same. He felt Dean's eyes on him the entire time he stood by the elderly couple's car and the feeling unnerved him. As soon as the Bradley's were nothing more than a cloud of dust and a set of tire tracks, Dean had called Sam over- away from Linda- having developed a sudden interest in how old Bear was.
Sam's eyebrows were still knitted together as Linda set the casserole on the table. "What's wrong, Sam? I thought you liked tuna?"
He blinked, shaken from his reverie by the worry in her voice. "It's fine- it looks great." He looked at Dean, whose face was impassive. "I'm not too hungry- I think I'm gonna lay down for a while."
He pushed back his chair and started to stand. Linda froze, frowning in concern. "Oh- okay… do you feel okay? You look a little pale. Maybe I should-"
"I'm fine, just a headache," Sam replied. He hadn't even realized it until now, but a headache was indeed beginning to throb against the back of his eyes. He left the room quickly, well aware of the confused faces watching him.
Sam climbed the stairs and made it into his room, shutting the door behind him then leaning back against it. He needed to be alone, to try and figure out the sudden mood swing in Dean and John. The tension downstairs was palpable. Sam took offense to anyone not looking favorably upon Linda- she had taken him in and cared for him when he was alone and frightened. She had earned his respect and trust. If he were being completely honest, he would even admit to loving her as a mother.
He pushed himself away from the door and walked to his bed. The sun was streaming in through the window, lighting the room and increasing the pain in his head. Sam squinted as he passed through the sunlight and lay on his back atop the king-sized bed. He was tired, tired of the confusion and the loneliness and the overwhelming emotions. The fatigue was in his bones, making his limbs feel heavy. He didn't want to have to think about it anymore. Why couldn't things just go back to the way they were before, when it was just Linda and him, back when things were simple?
'Because that's not your real life,' he told himself. His real life was danger, insecurity, and pain. It was dark. It was lonely and hard and he hated the feeling it left in his stomach.
Sam wondered why he had chosen to live a life so cold.
Sam sighed heavily- the answer was sitting downstairs.
There was no doubt that Dean belonged in his life, he had the memories to prove it. He stared up at the ceiling, thinking back to Dean's words.
/ "When you were six months old, our Mom burned to death on the ceiling above your crib." /
Suddenly a stabbing pain erupted behind his eyes and Sam shut them tightly, gasping as he pressed his fists tightly upon his forehead. He held his breath, pushing his head back into the pillow as he tried to escape the torture. What the hell was happening?
The pain was unbearable and Sam panicked. He grabbed his head, his fingernails digging into his scalp as he worried that the bones in his skull were cracking open. He sucked in a hitching breath and started to roll towards the edge of the bed, where, once on the floor, he might be able to get to the door.
Before he could, the room grew very cold. Unnaturally cold. Sam held his breath and blinked open his watery eyes.
The image above him sent ice through his veins and instantly, Sam fell still.
Subconsciously, he noticed the room had fallen into darkness and the surroundings were unfamiliar. But at the moment, all he could see was the stricken, pain-filled face of a young woman above him.
Her blonde hair was fanned out around her head and her arms and legs were bent haphazardly around her. Her mouth was open in a silent cry and slowly, blood dripped from her abdomen, splattering thick and warm across his forehead. He couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
Jessica…
Love. Pain. Sorrow. Sam could feel her emotions as clearly as his own. He stared into her eyes as they branded his soul.
Jessica…
"Sam!"
Dean's voice was loud and sharp and a moment later hands were on Sam's neck and shoulders. The sunlight returned as the room morphed, blinding him with its intensity and Sam groaned, shutting his eyes and turning his face away from the window. His head still pounded lowly and he tried to ride out the pain.
"Sam, talk to me. What happened? You okay?"
"Dean?" he mumbled, trying to control his breathing. "I saw…" His throat constricted and he stopped. The sense of loss was overwhelming.
"What, Sam?" Dean prompted, one hand on Sam's shoulder.
Tears filled Sam's eyes and he wasn't sure if they were from his headache or the vision. "I saw a girl… Jessica… on the ceiling. Dead."
There was a heartfelt sigh above him as the hand on his bicep squeezed gently. "Sammy…"
Sam forced his eyes open, quickly wiping at the unshed tears before Dean could see. He pushed himself up and sat still, nostrils flaring as he slowed his breathing. "It really was her, wasn't it?" he asked quietly, staring at his knees. "That's really how she died? With the blood…"
"Yeah," Dean said, his voice just as soft. "Just like mom."
They sat in silence, neither looking at the other, until another vision flashed through Sam's head. "You were there, weren't you? You pulled me out, when Jessica…" Suddenly it was important, and Sam realized it was only one of many times Dean had risked his life for him.
Dean nodded, glancing at Sam. "Yeah, Sammy. I was there."
"Just like with Mom."
"Just like with Mom."
"Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"What happened back there, in the woods? There's something you're not telling me. Did I do something? Did I not do something?"
Dean looked away again, suddenly incredibly fascinated with Sam's pillow. "No, of course not. It's not you."
"Then what? Is it Linda? Something's going on between you and her- I can see it plain as day. Did she do something?"
Dean sighed and picked at a cuticle, holding his breath as if thinking about how to use it.
He needed encouragement. Sam decided to be honest. "I believe that we're brothers," he admitted. "I have flashbacks sometimes… you're always in them. Saving me. Joking around with me. Sometimes we're just driving. I feel like I know you, deep down, you know? I want to trust you." Sam paused, meeting Dean's hopeful gaze. "Help me trust you, Dean," Sam prompted. "Tell me what's going on."
Dean slowly relented. His gaze dropped quickly before a new determination shone in his eyes. "Okay, uh… you're going to hate me for this…" He cleared his throat. "Have you- have you ever seen Linda acting strange? Sneaking out in the middle of the night, sneaking off to a secret room, or anything like that?"
Sam's eyebrows furrowed. "No. Never. She spends all day keeping the place cleaned up, then she usually goes to sleep the same time I do." He looked at Dean. "Why?"
Dean shrugged, suddenly appearing careless. "Just wondering- Dad wants to make sure she has nothing to do with the wraith."
The realization was like a slap in the face. "Dad thinks she's responsible for the thing in the woods?"
"No- he just, you know. Wants to make sure, that's all." Dean smiled softly. "She doesn't have a certain object she's really attached to or anything?"
Sam shook his head quickly. "No. Nothing." Sam pushed himself off the bed and began to pace in front of the window. "You can tell 'Dad' that she's innocent." He had admitted to himself that Dean belonged in his life- but John, on the other hand, was still a complete stranger. He hadn't connected with the older man, hadn't felt an ounce of emotion. And now- How dare he accuse Linda of having evil intents? Sam was fuming.
"He's just looking out for you," Dean said. "Someone is controlling the wraith, Sam. Someone is responsible for keeping you here- probably for messing you up in the first place. Dad just doesn't want you to get hurt."
"Then why wouldn't he come to me? Why didn't he just ask me about her?" Sam threw his hands in the air. "She's a good person, and I trust her. I know she doesn't have anything to do with this."
"That's why Dad didn't tell you," Dean said. "You're obviously attached to her- she took you in and kept you safe for God's sake! We don't blame you for liking her! But we have to look at every possibility here, Sam. And right now, she's a pretty damn big one."
Sam crossed his arms. "No. There has to be another explanation."
Dean raised his hands in agreement. "I hope there is."
Sam held his gaze a moment longer, then turned to stare out the window. Down below, Linda was showing Missouri a row of blooming Black-Eyed Susans. The two pointed and smiled and their lips moved in conversation. The scene was so normal, so harmless- Sam clenched his jaw.
John Winchester was wrong. Linda had nothing to do with the monster in the woods.
And Sam would prove it.
o0O0o
Sam leaned against the wall, watching Linda dust the bookshelves with a rag, humming softly to herself. She picked up a picture of herself and a young man- her now estranged son- and wiped it gently before setting it back down. Bear lay in a sprawl on the hardwood floor, breathing heavily in his sleep.
A hand on his elbow made him jump. "Sam, I need to talk to you for a moment."
Missouri was standing behind him, dropping her hand as she looked at him meaningfully. Behind her, Dean shifted uncomfortably.
Sam glanced back to Linda, who continued cleaning unaware of the gathering behind her. "I need to talk to Linda first," he said, looking pointedly at Dean.
Missouri put one hand on her hip. "You need to talk to me first, boy," she replied, shooing him into the kitchen. "Get your tail in here and sit down. Dean, leave us be for a few minutes."
Wordlessly, Dean nodded, then left with nothing but a hopeful glance to Sam.
"Now," Missouri watched as Sam sat down, lowering her voice. "Dean told me what's going on. I know you're upset, but-"
"So he told you that they think Linda is the one controlling the thing in the woods?" Sam snapped, his face contorting in anger. "Do you know how ridiculous that is? She's the nicest woman I know, she's-"
"Sam," Missouri interrupted, laying her hand over his on the table. "I'm not here to take sides. I'm here to make sure you don't do anything foolish. A hot temper is one thing you got from your daddy, and it's the last thing this house needs right now. Now shut up and listen to me for a moment."
Sam pouted, shutting his mouth and leaning back. He remembered very little of Missouri, but her personality alone demanded respect. He sighed, some of the tension leaving his body. "Fine."
"Good. Now lemme ask you something. What were you going to say when you went in there?"
Sam shrugged. "I don't know. Whatever it took to prove she's innocent."
Missouri shook her head slowly. "And if you didn't get the answers you wanted?"
Sam glared. "She's got nothing to do with the thing- the wraith."
Missouri lifted her hands. "I'm not saying one way or the other. But Sam, you've got to prepare yourself for the worst. People aren't always what we want them to be." Her words were soft and gentle. "Your father is very good at what he does- you can't fault him for being suspicious, not when he's trying to protect you boys."
Sam crossed his arms. He hadn't felt the emotional connection to John like he had felt with Dean- he didn't trust the older man and was certainly rubbed the wrong way more than once. For now they simply coexisted, neither making the move to open up emotionally.
In the other room, Linda talked to Bear about the weather. Missouri smiled. "No one's blaming you for wanting to believe Linda is innocent. In fact, I'd think something were wrong with you if you didn't. She's very hospitable."
"Hospitality is her job," Sam said. "She more than that- she's a good person. Why can't you all see that?"
"Oh, I can see it, child," Missouri replied. "But even good people make mistakes."
Sam shook his head in refusal.
"I don't need to be psychic to know she means a lot to you. But Dean and John are your family. They missed you terribly and they love you. You will have to leave with them eventually, regardless of what happens." She paused, looking him in the eyes. "That has to be frightening."
Sam had never thought much about leaving here. It was always in the back of his mind, but he'd been too concerned with trying to find his past, then Linda's integrity had been challenged. What would it be like, living with Dean and John? Would the three of them return to the hunt, drifting from city to city in search of the supernatural, or would John leave them again? How long would it take to become readjusted to a life on the road, with Dean as his only steady companion? Would he miss this life? Miss the chores and the home cooked meals and the quiet lay of farmland?
"It's okay to be scared," Missouri said, scooting closer. "Sam, I can't make you remember everything, but I think you know you can trust Dean. He'd never do anything out of spite or to harm you. We all can see how much you like it here, but this isn't some ploy to upset you. There is real danger here and it needs to be dealt with. By any and all means necessary."
"I know," he snorted. "Trust me, I know."
"Do you agree to stay quiet for a while longer? None of us want to hurt Linda- as far as everyone's concerned, she's innocent until proven guilty. Just give your father some time to figure out what's going on, okay Sam?"
Sam was silent, contemplating the request. It felt wrong knowing they were conspiring about her in her own home. Sam felt ashamed that his own explicit trust in the woman had been fractured. He had no reason to doubt her, especially after everything she did for him- but the others seemed so convinced she was involved. Dean's doubts had transplanted themselves onto him and he couldn't help but look at Linda in a slightly different light.
"Sam?"
"Okay," he said at last, hating the taste of defeat on his tongue. "No one says anything to her until we're sure."
Missouri nodded. "Deal." She smiled, leaning back in her chair. "I miss these talks, Sam. It's been a long time… too long. Lawrence was never the same after you boys moved away."
Sam retuned the smile out of politeness. He felt safe with her gentle, rational good-nature, but the memories of his time with her had not returned. He wondered just how important to him she had been.
A soft knock on the doorframe caught his attention and Sam turned to find Dean leaning around the corner. "Dad says he has something he wants to show us, if you two are done here."
"As a matter of fact, we are done," she replied. "I was just telling Sam about the havoc you two wreaked on the quiet town of Lawrence." She nudged Sam with her elbow. "You wouldn't believe some of the things your brother got into when he was a pup. Gave me quite a few gray hairs." She raised a hand to her hair, patting it.
"Me?" Dean scoffed indignantly, coming fully into the kitchen. "Sammy was just as much of a trouble maker as I was. He even instigated half of it!"
"Don't you blame this angel," Missouri warned with a pointed finger and a protective hand to Sam's head. "He just followed his big brother- I remember the two of you riding your bicycles to the ice cream shop and mooching off the elderly women that worked there. How many times did I have to drive there and pick you up because you got sick to your stomach on free chocolate-covered sundaes?"
Dean chuckled. "Hey, with his puppy eyes and dimples coupled with my charm, we were unstoppable."
"Oh, I stopped you alright," Missouri said. "All that ice cream was affecting your growth. You're lucky I had you start mowing lawns for exercise."
Dean's eyes glittered. "Yeah, I remember. You sure taught us a lesson." He looked at Sam, grinning slyly.
Something in Sam flip-flopped and the air grew cold. The conversation continued around him.
"Funny thing was how much you liked doing it," Missouri muttered, her eyes unfocused as she remembered the past. "I never counted on that. Oh well," she sighed, pushing back in her chair and standing up. "We better not keep your father waiting any longer."
Sam remained where he was. Something about the story wasn't right. There was something Dean was leaving out, and it flitted at the edge of his memory like a ghost in the fog. He reached for it, closing his eyes in concentration as a dull pain began throbbing behind his eyes. It was so close…
"Sam?"
The next thing he knew, he was falling forwards.
Visions flashed before his eyes… playing silently as his body became weightless. There were images of Dean as a child, of red bicycles and ice cream cones, of large black cars and dirty shovels, John, salt, wooden crosses, guns and bullets, report cards, a baseball, two small beds in a tiny bedroom, black and white TV, cereal, a rubber duck, then flowers by a grave. Happiness, sadness, longing and anger… they crashed upon him, filling all the tiny holes that had been left in him, completing him, making him whole again. He knew what it meant to be Sam. He had a sense of self that had never quite been there since he woke up that rainy night in the woods.
His body hummed with suppressed energy and all his nerve endings exploded in pain.
He was back.
There was a scream as his forehead smacked the edge of the table, then he slid off the chair and collapsed on the floor. The chair had tipped over and fallen with him, ensnaring his legs as he struggled to lift himself up. Hands were on him, steadying him. By the time he realized he was under the heavy kitchen table, his head connected with the underside of it and he winced, cringing away as the pain doubled.
"Just calm down, lay down and be still," Missouri instructed, pushing on his shoulder while cushioning his back with the other hand. "Dean, go get some ice and a towel. Sam, can you hear me?"
He nodded, both fists pressed tightly against his eyebrows as he tried to breath through the pain. Warm blood trickled from a cut above his right eyebrow, slicking his hand as it tickled a trail down his temple and through his hair. The visions had stopped, why was the pain still so unbearable? He sucked in a large breath, suddenly realizing his lungs were burning from neglect.
"Hurts," he murmured, his eyes screwed shut so tightly he saw explosions of color in the blackness.
"I know sweetie, just hang in there-"
"What's going on in- Sam? Oh my God, is he okay?"
"Thank you Dean. He's alright Linda, just had a little accident…"
Sam's fists were pried away from his face and a cold weight was pressed to his head. "Keep that there," Missouri said with a pat to his shoulder. "Don't move."
Sam nodded slightly and swallowed. "Dean?"
"Yeah buddy, I'm right here."
A warm hand settled on his arm. Sam smiled as the ice began to provide some relief. "I remember."
"Remember what?"
He chuckled weakly, unable to stop the goofy smile on his face. "That summer. The secret. How the neighbors felt sorry for you and paid you for mowing… so you took us back to the ice cream shop anyway…"
Missouri gasped. "Dean Winchester!"
"Ow! Thanks a lot, Sam."
"Sam, do you remember anything else?" Missouri asked, without a hint of violence in her voice.
He nodded. "Everything."
"Everything? Even the fifty dollars you owe me?"
Sam couldn't stop the smile from spreading over him. "Everything but that." The pain was lessening now. He risked tilting his head and cracking open one eye. Missouri and Dean were sitting on the floor, half under the wooden kitchen table with him. His legs were laying straight out, bathed in light from the kitchen's overhead fixture. It was then he realized someone was missing. "Linda?" he asked, searching the floor for her legs. Hadn't she come in to see if he was okay? Had he imagined that?
Missouri and Dean turned to look as well, confusion on their faces.
Linda was gone.