It was brought to my attention by two wonderful ladies (Thanks Phoenix & Kyriebess!) that my characterization of Sam in the first two chapters was a bit off (to put it midly). I reread it a few times, and realized that although first season Sam was a bit short tempered and bold, I went too far with him. I humbly apologize for that, and have addressed it in this chapter. I've toned Sam down, and will do my best to keep him the loveable guy we all know and love.
Also, don't be upset by the violence involving the children. All is not what it appears.
A Mother's Love
Dean's jealous green eyes watched his beloved Impala drove away with Sam at the wheel. It's not that Sam hadn't driven the car before, but it was the first time he'd taken it without Dean safely guarding her from the passenger seat.
Dean had given Sam a laundry list of specific instructions on how to properly care for his car during his absence. It didn't matter that he'd only be away from it for a few hours; a lot can happen in that time.
"Crap!" Dean exclaimed, fumbling for his cell phone. He'd forgotten the most important rule! He tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for Sam to answer.
"What, Dean?"
"Dude, don't park near a tree! I just washed her a few days ago." Dean tugged on the zipper of his jacket as the brisk wind went through his thin hospital scrubs.
"Too late. I've already painted a bull's-eye on the roof. Then I'm going to dump a bucket of worms all over the hood."
Dean's voice was as tight as the death grip he had on his phone. "Sam, I'm not kidding! If there's even a speck of bird shit on her--"
"I'm a dead man. Yeah, I got it. Look, I gotta go. There's a huge pothole I need to run over."
"Sam. Sam. Sam!" A sharp click indicated Sam had ended the call. The loud drone of the dial tone rang in Dean's ear, although he could swear he could hear his little brother's laugh mingling with the dial tone.
Dean stared at the cell phone a moment before hanging up. With a shake of his head, he jammed his hands into his jacket pockets, his left hand making a fist in the empty place where his keys should be. "I'm going to kill that kid." he muttered as he walked into Trinity General Hospital.
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Sam hung up the phone and chuckled. It was wrong to tease Dean about his beloved Impala, yet it was oh so right. He was sure he'd pay for it later, but it would be worth it.
Sam checked his map one more time, then turned onto East Oak Road. It was a very fitting name, as the large oak trees surrounding the cul de sac seemed to outnumber the houses fifty to one. It seemed as though the cluster of homes had been dropped from the sky and landed among the densely packed trees. While it was simply beautiful during the daytime, Sam had a feeling it would feel a bit menacing during the night.
Sam doubled checked the house numbers, although it was fairly easy to see which one belonged to the Donovans. While the other five houses all showed various signs of life, from kids playing on the lawn to fathers doing yard work, the house on the end was quiet. Every curtain on the two story cape was closed, the front door shut.
After parking the Chevy in a relatively tree-free zone, Sam grabbed a badge of out the glove compartment. He got out of the car and self-consciously straightened out the few remaining wrinkles from his tan State Police uniform. Ignoring the curious stares from the neighbors, Sam sauntered up the steps to the Donovan's front door.
His first attempt at the doorbell went unanswered, so he switched to some good old-fashioned pounding. Sam loudly announced his presence and took a step back. Less than a minute later the door was opened by a tired looking man in jeans and a red sweater.
"Officer Darrow, State Police." Sam identified himself with a quick flash of his badge. "I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr. Donovan, but I need to ask you a few questions."
Mr. Donovan ran a hand through his dark hair. "The State Police is involved now? Fantastic." he said woodenly. While he did open the door a bit wider, he made no move to allow Sam inside.
"I'm very sorry, Mr. Donovan. I promise this won't take long." Sam shifted his eyes down to the tiny hand that had appeared from behind Mr. Donovan's left arm. A second later a head peeked out, big blue eyes shining curiously from under a mane of long blonde hair.
Sam smiled at the young girl. "Hi. You must be Jenna."
The little girl shrunk back out of sight. Mr. Donovan sighed apologetically. "Don't take it personally. She's seen way too many uniforms lately." He paused for a beat. "She's seen way too much of everything lately."
Sam shifted his weight from one foot to the other and awkwardly cleared his throat. He wanted nothing more than to leave this poor family in peace. But he had a job to do, and as he'd learned way too early in life, the job came before everything else. One of his father's many mantras echoed in his memory: We're in the business of saving lives, not feelings.
"Mr. Donovan--" Sam began.
Mr. Donovan held up a hand, cutting Sam off. "I know, I know." He took a step back, gesturing Sam inside. "Come on in."
The sweet sound of music greeted Sam as he walked through the doorway. Sam's keen eyes took in every detail of his surroundings as he followed Mr. Donovan and his daughter through the house. Just before he entered the kitchen, he found the source of the beautiful music. A little blonde boy knelt precariously on a small stool in front of an upright piano. His little hands moved slowly across the keys, eliciting a sweet but melancholy melody.
Sam stood transfixed. His stomach twisted painfully when he saw the white bandages covering the child's arms. Mr. Donovan came up beside Sam, confirming what he'd already known.
"That's my son, Stevie. He's been practically glued to that piano ever since…" Mr. Donovan's voice trailed off sadly.
"He's amazing." Sam said, still in awe of the boy's talent. "I can't believe he's only four years old."
Mr. Donovan nodded. "Here's the funny part. He's never taken one piano lesson." He gave a small smile at Sam's surprised look. "Jenna's been taking lessons for a few years. Either she's been showing him some things, or he's just self taught."
Stevie kept playing as though he had no indication that he was being watched. Sam smiled at Mr. Donovan. "Looks like you've got a child prodigy on your hands."
Mr. Donovan stared at his son, his eyes slowly welling up with tears. He choked out a soft agreement as a tear slipped down his cheek. Seemingly embarrassed, he quickly turned away from Sam and walked into the kitchen.
"Come on. Let's get this over with."
Sam took one last look at little Stevie before joining Mr. Donovan. His heart ached for the family. His only solace was that somehow he and Dean could prevent another family from going through the same hell.
Sam sat across from Mr. Donovan, who had taken his place at the head of the kitchen table. Sam pulled out a small notepad and began with the usual inquires.
"Did your wife exhibit any behavioral changes prior to the attack? Mood swings, bad dreams?"
Mr. Donovan rolled his eyes. "I've been over this before."
"Please, bear with me." Sam glanced down at his notes. "Did your wife give any indication why she would attack your son? Had there been an argument? Some other situation that might've lead to the attack?"
Sam's questions were met with the same irritated rolling of the eyes. "No. For the thousandth time, I have no idea why she would go after our son." Mr. Donovan's tone became increasingly agitated. The only thing Sam was accomplishing was pushing an already tense man closer to the edge. If he didn't speed things up, he would lose any chance at getting the answers he needed.
Sam changed his tactic. He mentally put away the police persona and allowed the hunter to take over. "I'm going to be straight with you, Mr. Donovan. This might seem a bit bizarre, but it's vital that you take this seriously." Sam took a deep breath and prepared to lay the absurd out on the table. "Are you familiar with Wendy Lanigan?" At Mr. Donovan's tentative affirmative, Sam continued. "Wendy said she saw a ghost a few weeks before she killed her daughter. Did your wife describe anything of the sort? Or perhaps a disembodied voice?"
Mr. Donovan slowly sat back in his chair. His right hand shook slightly as he wiped it across his pale face. Sam sat forward in his chair and waited for him to speak. After a few tense seconds both men jumped in their chairs as a tiny voice broke the silence.
"Daddy? I wanna watch tv."
Sam closed his eyes in frustration. When he reopened them, he saw that Jenna had joined them in the kitchen. Although her tiny hand was on her father's arm, her sharp blue eyes were on Sam.
Mr. Donovan drew her in close and placed a tender kiss on the top of her head. "Go ahead, sweetheart."
"But Stevie won't stop playing the piano." Jenna whined, her eyes still on the newcomer.
"You tell him I said it's time to stop. Just give me a few more minutes, and then maybe we can play with some Play-Doh. Ok?" Mr. Donovan pulled her long blonde hair back away from her face and turned her towards him.
Jenna gave her father an unreadable look and nodded. With one final glance at Sam, she jogged out of the kitchen.
Sam gave Mr. Donovan a moment to rest in his thoughts, then cleared his throat. "So, Mr. Donovan. You were saying about your wife?"
The loving smile Mr. Donovan had sported as he'd watched his daughter leave turned into a frown as Sam brought him back to the matter at hand.
"Officer Darrow, there's no such thing as ghosts." Mr. Donovan said.
Although his words held a confidence to them, Mr. Donovan's eyes beheld an uncertainty. Sam pushed a little harder.
"Look. In less than three months, two women in the same small town have attacked their children. I'm sorry, but that's no coincidence. I need to know all of the facts so we can not only help your wife, but maybe save someone else from getting hurt."
Mr. Donovan squirmed in his chair, still not meeting Sam's gaze. Sam scraped his chair forward. The sudden noise pulled the other man's eyes up. Sam stared hard into them as he delivered his last plea.
"Mr. Donovan, please. Tell me what your wife saw."
Mr. Donovan opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by a loud cry. The piano music that had been filling the air cut off abruptly. A loud thump sounded, followed by a low howl that escalated into a gut wrenching sob.
Sam sat back in his chair and sighed in exasperation. Once again the moment was ruined. Mr. Donovan muttered an apology and went into the living room to play referee, and perhaps medic, to his children.
Sam thumped his fist onto the table. Mr. Donovan definitely knew something, but every time Sam was about to learn what secrets the man held, he was interrupted. Sam pulled out his cell phone to see if Dean was having any better luck.
"Doctor Dean, at your service."
"Hey. How's it going on your end?" Sam got up and stood at the far end of the kitchen to better speak in private.
"It's been better. You know, hospitals aren't like they show on tv. There wasn't one hot nurse in the entire hospital!"
"Dean, you know what I mean. Did you get in to see Wendy?" Sam's supply of patience had been depleted, and he was in no mood to play Dean's game.
"Geez, Sammy. What crawled up your butt?"
Sam took a few breaths to calm himself down. He had been acting out of sorts the last few days, allowing the stress he'd been under to get the better of him. After sincerely apologizing, he once again posed his question to Dean, who smugly began to tell his tale.
"Actually, I was just about to call you. I talked to Wendy and found out some interesting details on our not-so-friendly neighborhood ghost."
Sam tightened his grip on the phone. "Did you get a name?" he asked excitedly.
"Not quite. Come pick me up and I'll fill you in."
Sam glanced around to make sure he was still alone in the kitchen before responding. "I'm not quite finished here yet. I'll come get you when I'm done."
"Well, how long will that be?"
Sam shrugged. "I don't know. I have a feeling Elaine saw the ghost, too, but every time I try to get her husband to confirm it, we get interrupted."
"So what am I supposed to do until you get here? Sit here with my thumb up my ass?"
Sam bit the inside of his cheek. He could go so many places with that comment. But given the attitude he'd been unfairly dumping on his older brother, he decided to take the high ground. "Dean, the motel's only about a mile away." Sam snapped his fingers as recollection hit. "Actually, I think I passed a library about a block down from the hospital. Why don't you go see what you can dig up on the ghost? I'll pick you up when I'm done."
Sam grinned as he listened to Dean's heavy breathing. He could practically see his older brother pacing, in front of the hospital, struggling to keep his impatience in check.
"Fine, but hurry up. I think I'm going through Impala withdrawl."
Sam shook his head and chuckled. "Bye, Dean."
Still chuckling, Sam turned around and nearly jumped out of his skin for the second time in less than a ten minutes. Jenna Donovan stood barely three feet away, staring silently up at him.
Sam took a step back, his hand at his stomach. "Jenna! You scared the shi…, the heck out of me!" He glanced around the room. "Where's your daddy?"
"In with Stevie. He fell off the stool." Jenna answered, her little arms folded across her chest. She continued to stare distrustfully at Sam.
Sam quirked his mouth into a knowing half smile. "Did he fall off, or was he pushed off?" Having himself been the victim of a tv-obsessed older brother, Sam recognized the signs of remote control violence.
Jenna guiltily looked away. Sam smiled down at her. "Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me."
Jenna returned his gaze with the beginnings of a smile, then shifted her blue eyes upwards. "That hat makes your head look funny."
Sam's smile morphed into a full out grin. He knelt down in front of Jenna and placed the tan hat on her head. "Now it makes your head look funny." He laughed as the large hat dropped halfway down her face.
The little girl pushed the hat upwards and giggled. "Your's looks funnier. Your hair's too long."
Sam laughed and self-consciously ran a hand through his dark hair. "So I've been told."
Her little hands still gripping the hat, she once again focused her intense blue eyes onto Sam. "You know about Mommy's ghost?"
Sam raised his eyebrows. Sam checked again to make sure Mr. Donovan wasn't coming back into the kitchen. Reassured he was alone with the girl, he proceeded cautiously. "What do you mean, Jenna?"
"I heard you on the phone. You were talking to some guy named Dean about ghosts." Jenna began to seesaw the hat back and forth on her head, covering her eyes and uncovering them.
Sam eased the hat out of her hand and placed it on the floor. "Did your mommy see a ghost, Jenna?"
"Uh huh. She told my daddy, but he didn't believe her. I did, though." Jenna answered.
Sam's heart beat excitedly. Although it was entirely possible Jenna had the answers he was seeking, the girl had just been through an enormously traumatic event. He didn't want to do or say anything that would cause her any further emotional damage.
"Can you tell me about it?" Sam placed his hands on his knees and leaned slightly towards Jenna.
"Mommy tried to tell Daddy, but he wouldn't listen. But she was right! The ghost was only trying to help us." Jenna's lower lip began to quiver. Her voice got higher as tears filled her eyes. "It's all my fault. If I hadn't stopped her, maybe he'd be back."
Sam cocked his head to the side, confused. "Stopped who? Your mommy? Jenna, you did a very brave thing. You saved your brother's life!"
Big crocodile tears streamed down Jenna's face. She began to cry, hiccupping out her words in between sobs. "No! It's all my fault! The boogeyman took him, and he's never coming back!"
"Sweetie, don't cry! It's ok. Stevie's fine! He's in the other room." Sam tried his best to quiet the distressed girl. He awkwardly placed a hand on her shoulder and began to wipe away her tears. Just then, Mr. Donovan reentered the kitchen.
"What the hell is going on here?" Rushing forward, Mr. Donovan scooped up his daughter and held her head against his shoulder as she contnued to sob. His face was almost as red as his sweater as he seethed at an uncomfortable Sam. "What the hell did you do?"
Sam stood up and held up his hands, palms outward. "Mr. Donovan, I'm so sorry. She was talking about her mother, and she got upset. I didn't mean to—"
Mr. Donovan pointed towards the door. "I think you'd better leave. Now."
Sam mentally kicked himself. He'd have been better off having Dean conduct the interview. Although he could be impatient and tactless, at least Dean had never made a little girl cry. Feeling worse than he ever thought possible, Sam stammered out another apology.
Jenna had stopped crying, and had her head turned to the side on her father's shoulder, watching Sam as he snatched his notepad off of the table. He hastily scribbled his phone number on a sheet of paper and placed it on the table in the hope that once he'd calmed down, Mr. Donovan might finally divulge his wife's secrets.
"Call me if you need anything." he mumbled as he backed out of the kitchen. Mr. Donovan rubbed his daughter's back in comforting circles and whispered soothing words as the little girl craned her head to follow Sam's exit.
As he passed the entryway to the living room, the piano music began again. Sam paused and glanced into the living room. Just as suddenly as he'd begun, Stevie stopped playing. He turned around on the stool and stared at Sam.
There was no denying the fact that the two children were siblings. However, while the four year old shared the same tow headed complexion as his sister, Stevie's blue eyes held none of the curiousness and passion as Jenna's had. His large sapphire eyes bored into Sam with a frosty bitterness that sent a chill down the hunter's spine. Sam was only able to endure the child's cold gaze for a few seconds. Shaking off the sudden chill that had befallen him, Sam backed away and continued to make his way out of the house.
Sam walked down to the Impala and stood beside it. He jiggled the keys in his hand as Jenna's words echoing in his mind. "No! It's my fault! Stevie's gone, and he's never coming back!" Sam tried to make sense of it all, but came up empty. He tried to convince himself it was nothing more than the ramblings of a traumatized child, and did his best to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach as he looked back at the house.
Sam shook his head in frustration and reached for the door handle.
"Son of a bitch!" he exclaimed.
Apparently a bird had decided to chime in on it's opinion of Sam's interviewing skills by leaving it's mark right above the lock. He took a step back and groaned. "You've got to be kidding me!"
The shiny black car was polka dotted in bird droppings. There wasn't one part of the car that was spared. Even the left rear tire had been targeted.
"Well that's just perfect." Sam groused as he got behind the wheel. The disastrous meeting with the Donovans was set to the back of his mind as he focused on his newest mission: finding a carwash. Fast.
So, hopefully this chapter will put Sammy(and myself!) back on track. Let me know what you think...it's the only way I'll know what's working and what isn't. Thanks!!