Title: Harder to Swallow Than Most (26/30)

Author: Silverkitsune1

Summary: Connor finds Sam Winchester, a young man whose mind has been ripped apart.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I don't own Angel.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: AU with a side of deep fried crack

Thanks go to: wild wolf free17 and Samcandoit my wonderful betas.

Author's Notes: The start of this universe is set at the beginning of Angel, season four, right after the season's second episode Deep Down. That means the year is 2002. Connor is about 18 (I don't think the show every specifically says) and Sam is 18 or 19. There are spoilers up the wazoo for all five seasons of Angel, and spoilers for the first two seasons of Supernatural…kind of.

Awakening

Connor's memories were like tiny, gleaming shards of sharp light that had to be painstakingly fused back together until they created vast spinning galaxies of possibility. The final product took him weeks to form, and it was a confusing mess that was as painful as staring directly into the sun.

After the sixteenth day, he abandoned his astronomy and physics books, climbed into the old clunker of the station wagon, pressed the petal to the floor, and made the five hour drive to Los Angeles.

It was strange to see lines of sunlight sliding across Angel's shoes and legs without the accompanied smoke or the sweet smell of burning flesh. Connor stuck to the shadows, as uncertain of his place in Angel's office as he was of his place in the universe.

"I know that you're my father." They weren't the words that Connor had rehearsed on the journey back to Wolfram and Hart, but they would do.

Surprised, Angel laid a stack of files on his desk and stood. "Your memories came back?"

"Yeah, they're all mixed up with the new ones. All the good ones, the bad ones, the inappropriately erotic ones—" Connor closed the difference between himself and his biological father. "And all of the ones where I take care of a six foot four guy with floppy hair and really big eyes. Those are my favorite."

Angel watched him cautiously. Connor wondered if he was waiting for a fire storm of violence, but Connor wasn't that kind of man anymore.

"Where is he?" Connor asked. "What did you do with him?"

Angel sighed. "Right now, he's in one of the conference rooms. I think Spike is trying to teach him poker."

"The blond guy?"

"Blond vampire," Angel corrected. "And yes. Sam seems to have taken a certain…liking to Spike."

"What?"

"I'm blaming the accent," Angel said, arms crossing over his chest. "Kids got an obvious thing for an English accent."

"Is he helping him?" Connor asked, uncertain. "Is he trying to fix him? Did you try to fix him?"

"Sam's situation is complicated," Angel said. "He can't be fixed with the flick of a wrist and a few magic words."

"That's not what I asked." There was no heat under his words. His anger has always been slow to build. His parents liked to say both their Irish heritages had cancelled each other out, and quelled whatever heat may have been kindled in Connor's belly once upon a time.

Angel fidgeted, uncertain and shamefaced. "Things have been pretty hectic around here lately."

Connor felt as though the world had suddenly crumbled under his feet and he was plummeting toward a vast black hole. It was the second time in a week that it had happened and he was tired of it.

"You didn't try?" Connor asked, stunned. "You have an entire evil empire under your thumb. You completely mind-wiped me, and you didn't even try to hook him up with a well-trained shrink?"

"I've made sure that he's healthy, and as happy as he can be."

"He remembers me," Connor said. "I saw him when I first showed up here and he remembers me, but the way he talked you'd think. God, did you tell him I didn't exist?"

"I did it for you," Angel said softly. "I wanted you to have a chance at normal. I wanted you to be happy. You didn't need the burden of another human life at eighteen."

The first time Connor heard the phrase "broken heart" he'd pictured a shattering red glass sun-catcher. He imagined that as the pieces fell they cut through the lungs and the liver, the large intestines, the veins and the organs landing blade first in the soft tissue of his stomach. Turned out he was right.

"I know you did," Connor said. "I understand what you did, and I'm grateful. But I'm taking Sam with me when I leave this office. And I don't want you to try and stop me."

"You can take care of him?" Angel approached him with hands held palm up. "Where are you living, Connor? At Stanford? In the dorms or an apartment? Can you afford food? Clothing? Can you take care of him and yourself?"

"We did fine before," Connor defended.

"Do you really want a repeat of 'before'?" Angel asked, gently.

Thoughts spun thick around Connor's head like clouds of poisonous gas that wrapped around Jupiter, but none of them sounded anything less than ridiculous. Connor stared hard at Angel's carpet, gray and no doubt expensive.

"Just let me see him," Connor finally said.