Chapter Two - The Rebel Son

A/N:

So this is just a lil flashback to explain some backstory - it's not long, but I thought I'd explain how Sam came to work for Bobby. Plus there's a quick guest appearance!

Three Years Ago

'This is so cool.' Sam said excitedly to Dean. 'We're hunting a Demon - an actual Demon! Hey - can I exorcise it?'

Dean rolled his eyes. 'You don't even know how to exorcise one yet, dumbass.' He turned around to look at Sam - they were walking down a dark corridor, following a maze of corridors in an abandoned mansion. 'Just stay behind and leave me and Dad to do it, okay?'

'But-' Sam began, but Dean had turned away grouchily, rolling his eyes and walking faster to catch up with John Winchester ahead of them. As soon as he had turned his head away, however, Sam's expression changed. Faking the excitement had been easy - Dean and their Dad still saw him as a little kid; overly eager and a general source of irritation. He watched the two of them ahead, Dean murmuring in a low voice to John, subconsciously mimicking his Father's stance, his walk. The loyal soldier. They wouldn't even notice if he disappeared - so much for keeping him safe. This time, however, it worked to his advantage.

Sam watched as Dean and their Dad turned a corner, moving carefully, watching each other's backs. They'd forgotten about him. Good.

As soon as they were out of sight, Sam began to move. He already knew the layout of the house - he'd done his research, looking at the floorplans displayed in the realtors; repeating Bobby's message over and over to himself until he knew it off by heart. "There's a portkey in the old gazebo, set up for our Portland M.I.S.H.A. division so they can travel to the capital," Bobby's gravelly voice had crackled in the answer machine. "It'll take you straight to M.I.S.H.A. Headquarters in the Big Apple, where you can find me. Ask your Dad about travelling via Portkey, he should remember a thing or two - and make sure Dean doesn't touch it before knowing what it is; it's an old record player and he'll be attracted to it like a vampire to fresh blood."

Except he hadn't told his Dad, or Dean. As far as Bobby knew, Sam was taking up the offer he had made ages ago, of taking Sam on as an intern at M.I.S.H.A. and teaching him magic on the side. John Winchester had never found out about this offer, and Dean had dismissed it at once, but it had always stuck with Sam, lodged in the back of his mind, niggling at him in times of doubt. Why couldn't he be a wizard as well as a hunter? He wanted to learn about this other world; a place where he might just be able to fit in, to have a life where a permanent home and no risk of being killed by a raving Wendigo was on the gurantee. He was fascinated by magic - and he loved casting it. Dean and Him had never been given wands, but a couple of years back, Sam had found his Mom's old one, and he couldn't resist using it. He'd only got as far as 'Lumos' and 'Wingardium Leviosa', but he had felt wonderful whilst casting the spell - it felt natural, it felt right, it felt like a part of him had finally been released. The real him.

When he was younger, all he'd wanted to do was hunt. He wanted to be part of Dean and Dad's little gang, to be recognised by John Winchester as a great hunter-in-the-making, to impress them. He loved the research and the action, and he threw himself into it. It was like he was in a book, like he was some hero, Sam the Hunter who feared nothing and braved all.

Except he began to grow out of it. Began to realise what the world was really like, and that he was not living inside the pages of a book. He accepted that his father would never acknowledge his ideas, or listen to his opinions - to his Dad, Sam would always be little Sammy, the rebel soldier, the one who needed to be crushed to be controlled. He realised he'd never be like Dean, no matter how hard he tried to imitate his older brother.

And then, he had found the wand - and an escape route. The Wizarding World was not mentioned at the Winchester's dinner table - John Winchester was not a wizard, and even if he had married a witch and his sons were magical like their Mother, they were going to be hunters. Sam and Dean might have been wizards, but they weren't given any training. They were told they were wizards, that there was another world of magic out there, and that they were never allowed to mention it again. End of story.

PFinally, last month, Sam had summoned up his courage and brought up the subject of magic one nighy. Instantly the mood had changed. At first, they scorned him, and when John Winchester had realised his Son was actually entirely serious about wanting to learn magic, he had tried to shut him down. But Sam had rebelled and a blazing argument had erupted, ending with Sam leaving the room with an appropriate slam of the doo. Dean had tried to talk to him after he'd stormed off, trying to justify their Dad's reasons. It had not worked.

Lying awake that night, Sam had realised what he would have to do to get out of there. So he had hatched his plan. Rung Bobby, told him his Dad was sending him to work with him. He told him they had had a fight and his Dad wanted him out of the way for a bit because he was cramping his and Dean's ability to hunt. Bobby had believed him.

"Just make sure you get here in one piece, you idjit." His last words on that voicemail had been. After he'd memorised it, Sam had made sure to delete it. He had to disappear suddenly, and the reveal to Bobby what the true story was. It was going to be hard, but it wasn't impossible. Bobby hardly approved of John Winchester's parenting techniques.

Sam waited until the footsteps faded away entirely. He duo round - and then stopped. Could he do it? Could he really run from them? Was it worth all of this?

"Sam?"

Dean.

He stopped stock still, a shot of adrenaline rushing through him, as the next call echoed down the corridor. He could do this, he could leave. He could.

"Sam? Sammy, where are you?"

Sam recognised the distant sound of footsteps halting and murmuring. Crap. Crap. Holy mother of crap.

Go find him. And hurry.' He heard his Dad murmur to Dean, followed by the sound of approaching footsteps.

Sam ran. Back down the corridor, through the ancient conservatory, past the rotting kitchen, and then out of the back door and into the overgrown garden. The path, the path, where was the path? The garden was a rotted jungle of dead plants and trees, and for a minute, Sam couldn't focus. He had been brought up to think on his feet, but right now, his mind wouldn't work. It was if he were paralysed; blind - except he could still see. He could see the gazebo in the distance, connected to the lonely streets of town. And now, he could see the path too.

'Sammy? SAMMY? SAM?"

Dean's yells were louder as Sam ran, echoing through his head as he sped towards the gazebo, but gradually, they faded - Dean hadn't managed to follow him - they didn't know where he'd gone. That way he could getter away cleanly; he wouldn't have to face up to the fact that he was leaving them without saying anything, disappearing out of the blue.

He'd reached the gazebo, picking through the mast of the undergrowth and eyeing the structure before him. It was made of white marble, once a shelter in the old garden, but now a street-side building hidden by a cloaking spell from Muggles - twenty metres away, a busy road from the city passed by.

Sam moved slowly to climb up the steps, and the full view of the gazebo was presented to him. On the floor, in the centre of the place, lay a rusted garden spade that made Sam stop in his tracks. The portkey. This was it.

The sound of footsteps sent a wave of adrenaline through his chest, and for a moment, he thought it was over, that Dean had caught up with him. Instead, he looked up to see a man dressed in long, bright turquoise robes hurrying up the gazebo steps, stumbling slightly. A name badge hung above his shirt pocket reading 'Garth Fitzgeralf IV, M.I.S.H.A. field agent'. The man glanced up and realised Sam was there, stopping in his tracks.

"Are you, uh, travelling today?' The man's eyes were unsure. 'I don't recognise you at all…"

"Well uh, this port - portkey does go to M.I.S.H.A. HQ in New York, right?" Sam asked, hesitating slightly.

"Yup, that's right." The man answered"Why, you meeting someone there?" Garth paused as another yell came from the house. Dean was still calling Sam's name. "What was that?'

"I dunno. Probably just a bird or something." Sam said hastily. "Uh, yeah. My Uncle - his name's Bobby Singer?"

"Heyyy, I should have known! Another magical hunter, hey? Come on, we'd better get you there!" The man knelt down and reached out for the Portkey, then looked up at Sam, who was still standing there, expectantly. "Well, are you coming or what?"

"Yes." Sam uttered the words before he had time to even think about them, and knelt on the floor. "Yes, I'm ready."

Sam's hand touched the Portkey, and he was gone.