Note: You probably should consider this story kind of like a multi-episode arc (as if Sam's memory loss is introduced in one episode, and isn't resolved until two or three episodes later). I really wanted Sam to see this side of the Supernatural life from his new perspective, without the added angst of knowing who John really is.
But I completely understand if you don't have the patience for that. So I'll make a deal with you!
If you only want to read the good parts, wait until I change the story summary. After I post the chapter with the Big Reveal, I'll put in the summary something like, "How will Sam react when he finds out the truth?" If you see that, you'll know that the last chapter I posted is (hopefully) what you were waiting for. I know it's kinda silly, but I hate feeling like I'm stringing everyone along!
John looked up at him sharply. "What?"
"Can I come with you?" Sam repeated more earnestly. This time he knew what he was saying.
He watched as John glanced over at Rebecca for help, but she had a small smile playing on her lips. He looked back at Sam, a deep crease in between his eyebrows. "Uh, you...You really want to come with me?"
"Yes."
"But...Why?" He didn't look upset, exactly, but his face was strangely pale.
Sam wasn't sure how to explain it. "I want to see what it is you do," he eventually said. "I could really use—" He stopped, reluctant to finish that sentence. "I don't know, it just seems like a road trip would be kinda fun," he amended.
John was still trying to comprehend his request. "What about your job?"
"It's a supermarket – they'll survive a week without me. Besides, I've never taken a day off, so I'm due for a break."
Sam was expecting him to turn him down. After all, if he had been lying to him about demons and werewolves – a very definite possibility - it'd be a lot harder to keep that up with Sam actually there by his side.And more than that, Sam wasn't sure how John, a loner, would feel about Sam tagging along.
"Um...Okay."
Sam felt his eyes widen. "Really?" John nodded tightly. "Wow, alright. Let me pack." He bounced on the balls of his feet, everything within him rising with sudden excitement, and then spun around to dash to his room before John could change his mind.
"You're bonding, aren't you?" he heard Rebecca ask John with a self-satisfied tone. John mumbled a reply, one Sam couldn't hear as he stepped into his bedroom.
It only took Sam five minutes to throw a couple changes of clothes and some essentials into a duffle bag. He also packed his laptop – he never went anywhere far without it. After that came a quick call to the grocery, telling them he wouldn't be in that week. Of course his manager was a bit disgruntled at the late notice, but Sam knew even if he were fired, it was far from the end of the world. After all, he had been planning on quitting for a long time now.
When he came back out, he could tell John was still uncertain, worried. "This will be dangerous, you know," he told him.
"I'll let you do all the dirty work," Sam replied easily, spreading his hands out. He couldn't explain it – maybe it was that "psychic ability" the shopkeeper told him about – but he felt an innate trust in John. He knew instinctively that he would watch his back, that he could put up a good, powerful fight when needed.
Sam had to stop himself. He was dangerously close to thinking as if monsters and ghosts were real.
He said goodbye to the Warrens – after promising Rebecca that he would check in everyday – and then he and John left. John led him around the corner of the block, and for the first time, Sam saw John's car – a classic Chevy Impala.
"Hey, nice ride," Sam remarked.
John grinned at him then. "You like that?" Going around to the driver's side, he tugged open the backseat door and tossed his bag inside. Sam did the same thing on the passenger side.
They each slid into the front seat, John behind the wheel and Sam into the passenger side. As Sam settled into his seat, he was surprised by how comfortable it was. It almost felt as if it were already molded to his body shape. Sam mentally whistled to himself, impressed by the classic car. It wasn't flashy, but it had finesse and attitude, fitting in perfectly with what – admittedly little – Sam had picked up from John's personality.
Once they were settled, John stuck the key into the ignition, but then he paused. For a moment he stared hard at the steering wheel, keeping his hand unmoving on the key. Sam waited uneasily, worried that he was having second thoughts. The air had suddenly grown thick, tense.
Then John glanced over at him and finally twisted his hand. In the next instant, the car roared into life.
Sam found himself thrumming along with the car's rumbling engine, and even his leg bounced in rhythm. His heart and blood found new life as a sense of adventure filled him. As the car pulled away from the curb, his mind pulled away from his apartment, his job, his old and upcoming life as a student, his future as a lawyer. He knew his mind wouldn't return to those subjects until the car returned him to that same curb.
"How long will this take?" he asked John.
"Well that depends. A couple of days, maybe a week."
"All right, cool," he said casually, secretly hoping it would be closer to a week. He felt like a little kid almost, with a big brother who was taking him to Disneyland. He knew it was insane, thinking that way, but he was too anxious to care.
He sat back and enjoyed the scenery that passed by his window, watching as sights he walked by every day flew by in an instant. Within minutes they were out of town.
It wasn't until they had passed the city limits that Sam allowed himself to ask questions - to acknowledge this temporary change in his life. He started simple.
"You still have a cassette player?"
"Shut it," John instantly replied.
"What? I didn't say anything," he said innocently.
"I could hear it in your voice."
Sam laughed. This felt good. He felt good. "Well, it's not everyday I see such an antique."
"That's odd. Your piehole - I'm still hearing it."
Sam gave him a cheeky grin in response. Rarely had he enjoyed such easy banter, not since Jessica. But even with Jessica, she had always been good at teasing him – it was one of the things he loved about her – but he never really learned how to tease her back.
Sam stretched his legs out as far as space would allow. "Hey, why don't you pull out the roadmap," John said, nodding towards the glove compartment. "So we know where we're going."
Sam popped the compartment open and reached in for the map. As he pulled it out, a small box spilled open and a shower of cards fell onto his lap. "So which one of these is your real identity?" he asked with a smirk as he gathered the cards into a stack. He glimpsed ID cards for various government agencies, credit cards assigned to different names, and even a couple business cards – just more of the same mixture he had found in his wallet.
"Not in there," John replied slyly.
"Yeah, didn't think so," Sam said, shoving the stack back into the glove box. He took a look at the foldout map and saw it was for the Pacific Northwest. "So you pretty much keep in this area?"
John glanced over. "Ah, nah, I go all over. I was in Nevada last week, Michigan before that. The other maps are in the backseat."
"Wow. You drive everywhere?"
"Hate flying," John told him. "Besides, I've got everything I need right here."
Sam nodded, impressed by the thought. John got to explore, see the entire country. He imagined that would lose its appeal after a while, but even so, at that moment he couldn't help but feel envious. He unfolded the map, creasing it back so that it only showed the area they needed. A mess of red and black ink spread across the paper in front of him, each wriggling line representing a new possibility.
After a few minutes of looking, Sam told him the routes to take. But he didn't put the map away at first, opting instead to follow the roads and highways with his finger to see which towns they ran through. He only spent a few minutes, knowing he couldn't explain what he was doing without embarrassing himself, but he soaked up those names of places he'd never been to into his mind, telling himself that someday he might visit.
ooOOoo
"You're the one Rebecca called about my nightmares, aren't you?" One by one, Sam was slowing going through the questions flying around in his head. They had been in the car for three hours, and that was the first one he finally had the courage to ask.
"What's that?" John asked, cutting himself off from a bad rendition of "Immigrant Song" by Led Zeppelin. "Oh. Yeah...About that..."
"Did you go to Boston?" Sam asked, cutting him off.
"Yeah, I did."
"What happened?"
John shrugged. "Not much."
"Oh..." Sam felt a stab of disappointment and even a little embarrassment go through him. He had started to think that maybe his dreams meant something, but now he realized how foolish that was.
"Did some research, found a Sarah Mitchell who spontaneously combusted on the bridge back in the seventies," John continued. "Dug up her grave, salted her bones, and then made sure nothing happened when those four drunk partiers crossed the bridge. Pretty cut and dry."
"Oh," Sam repeated, though with an entirely different emotion. "Wow, really?" He swallowed, almost afraid to ask to ask the next question. "What about the...other one?"
"The werewolves?" He must have seen the worried look on Sam's face because he was quick to grin, wasting no time to explain. "A couple of silver bullets took care of that. Got a few scars in the process, but the family wasn't even touched."
Sam let his shoulders sag in relief. "Oh, thank God..." he breathed. He could still picture the bloody images in his head – the ripping of flesh, the gnashing jaws that tore limbs off - and that brief moment when he realized it could have really happened was completely horrifying.
He turned to John. "Battle scars, huh?"
"Mm-hm," he said with a offhanded shrug. "Male got a piece of my forearm, and the female nicked my back."
"Your back?" It finally occurred to Sam just how dangerous this kind of life would be.
"Yeah. Werewolves don't exactly fight with honor," John said. "They have no problem attacking from behind. Of course," he added with a smirk, "I don't either."
Sam had a sudden thought. "Can I see your arm?"
"Huh?"
"Your arm. You said the werewolves scarred you. Let me see." This could, once and for all, tell him just how ridiculous he was for starting to trust John.
"You don't believe me?"
Sam just gave him a pointed look, cocking an eyebrow.
John looked back at him for a second and then started grumbling incoherently, making irritated noises in his throat. Then, keeping his right hand on the wheel, he used his left hand to push the sleeve up on his right arm, baring the skin underneath.
Sam almost gasped at the sight. Faded streaks – three wide ones and a smaller fourth one – wrapped around the outside of his arm, creating shallow dents in his flesh. The healed white skin contrasted sharply with the tan that covered the rest of his arm, burning an image into the back of Sam's eyelids. Now he understood why he was wearing long sleeves.
"Jesus," he said in an awed whisper. "How does your back look?"
John waved him off. "Not nearly as bad. She barely scraped me." A corner of his lip pressed up into his cheek. "Do you believe me now?"
Sam let out a low breath. "I'm definitely starting to," he said.
They fell into silence for a few moments before Sam spoke again. "So, what does that mean about my dreams?"
"You got the Shining, bro."
Sam chewed on his lip, wondering when his mind would finally give out, overloaded with information just from the past 24 hours. "But...how did you know? And what made you think that I'm, uh, a magnet for all this...stuff? Isn't that what you said?"
John seemed to consider his answer for a moment before he replied. "I don't know for sure why, but...Your life, it...it hasn't been exactly good. And, uh, some people who've experienced traumatic events sometimes end up attracting bad forces. Or they might develop certain psychic connections or abilities. You might have gotten both."
Well, okay, that kind of fit Sam, but it still didn't explain everything. "Not to downplay Jessica's death – I'd do anything to get her back – but lots of people go through traumatic experiences. Why would I be any different?"
"Some people are naturally more...sensitive. Like you." John glanced over at him. "Add that with your situation and..."
"I'm pretty vulnerable," Sam stated flatly.
"Well..."
"Did Rebecca tell you that, or did you know just by looking?"
"What?"
"That I'm that weak."
John tore his eyes from the road to look at him before turning his gaze back. "You are not weak," he said firmly, clenching his jaw. "You..." He trailed off with a short, violent jerk of his head, and didn't finish his thought.
But Sam didn't believe him, and wouldn't have even if John had finished.
"So...Rebecca says you graduated in the top five percent of your class," John said after a moment. "That's awesome, Sam."
Sam would have rolled his eyes at the obvious deflection.But rather than patronizing, John's voice struck him as heartfelt, so he let it go. "Yeah, thanks," he replied.
"Gonna be a hotshot lawyer someday?" John asked with a wide grin.
Sam shrugged a shoulder. "I don't know..." he replied tiredly.
A surprised, consternated look crossed John's face at that. "What do you mean, you don't know?"
"Eh, I'm just not sure that's what I want."
John stared at him for a long moment. Then, his head jutting forward, he burst out, "What?"
"Yeah," Sam replied, taken aback. "Why, what's the problem?"
"I just don't—You have this amazing mind, this great career ahead of you..."
Sam let out a half-laugh. "What are you, my guidance counselor?"
John propped his left elbow against his door and leaned his cheek on his hand. "I just..." He scrunched up his eyes and gave a short shake of his head. "You can't waste your life, Sammy."
"But..." Sam stopped, frustrated. It took him a few moments before he could express his thoughts. "That's what I'm afraid I am doing."
John gave him a long look. Then he jerked his head back, turning back to the road. "Don't be stupid."
Sam snorted in surprised annoyance. Who did this guy think he was, telling him what to do?
He really didn't want to spend the rest of the time in a tense silence, so he quickly changed the subject away from him. "So, this is a family business for you?" He immediately winced, wishing he hadn't brought that up. He hadn't meant to, but lately family had been lurking at the top of his mind, and it was the first thing he thought of.
John blinked a couple of times. "Uh, yeah...Kinda," he said, with a casual air Sam could tell was fake.
Sam knew it was a sensitive subject, so he veered slightly off, making sure he didn't ask about John's MIA father. "How long have you been doing this?" he asked, genuinely curious.
"Since I was a kid."
Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Your whole life?"
John shifted into a defensive stance – not in a physical sense, but a mental one, a visible change that included a squaring of shoulders and a clenched jaw - and nodded stiffly, not looking at him. He looked as though he were preparing himself for insults or sarcastic remarks or critical comments. Sam wondered if he'd heard them before, if that was why he reacted so defensively.
He didn't need to, though. Sam felt nothing but a growing sense of awe.
Hee, you guys still with me?
Next chapter, coming right up!