Disclaimer:See Chapter 1
A/N: This is a crucial chapter for me as a Winchester actually makes an appearance here. My fear is that this Winchester is woefully out of character and any Supernatural fan is going to want my head for it. If I'm correct in that assumption, please review and let me know this. I really decided to write fanfiction to take me out of my comfort zone, having stuck to original fiction before it. In the short time I've been doing this, I've discovered how truly difficult it is to capture the voice of somebody else's creation and would love feedback on how I could improve that. Thank you all again for sticking with this so far.
Chapter 6: A Stranger Came Knocking
The next day, an exhausted Sam occupied himself with taking care of Charlie, ensuring his friends were doing alright, and undertaking an important task at the Work Bench. He got to the Bench by early afternoon, with Sock and Ben watching after Charlie while he did this. It was busy as usual when he went in, with people everywhere bustling about on their errands.
Sam headed straight for Ted's office, knocking sharply on the door. A muffled, "come in," could be heard in response. He opened the door and stepped inside.
"Mr. Oliver," said Ted, "what a pleasant surprise and on your day off, too. I feel honored."
"Ted, can I have a minute?" he asked.
"Sure, have a seat," replied Ted, gesturing to the chairs on the other side of his desk. Sam took a seat, feeling distinctly uncomfortable sitting in the plastic chair. It reminded him of all the times he had been in trouble and had been forced to sit in this very chair and get lectured at by Ted. The man in question was steepling his fingers under his chin, like he did every time he sat at his desk talking to employees. " What can I do for you?"
"I'm here to give you my two weeks notice," he said, exhaling sharply.
Ted let his hands drop to his lap and his jaw dropped with it. "W,what? Why?"
"I just got a better offer, Ted. I told you I wasn't planning to be here forever. It's just time for me to move on."
"Well, I can't stop you, Sam. Very well, I'll start phasing out your hours then. Are you going to need any consideration for your new schedule?"
"Not really, no, but thank you for asking," said Sam.
"I'm sorry to hear you're leaving, Sam. No matter what, I always liked you."
"Thanks," replied Sam, giving him a genuine smile.
They shook hands and said their goodbyes and Sam left. He was driving home, when he felt the air in the car change. "Sammy," said the Devil from the backseat.
Sam jumped in his seat and swore softly under his breath. "Of course I had to have another visit from you."
"I just wanted to offer my congratulations on your work last night."
"We didn't do that well, though," replied Sam.
"Sure you did, Sammy. You got three of the souls pretty much at once and you took a big chunk out of Edgar's army of rats. I would say that constitutes as a good job. Plus, you caused a hell of a lot of property damage last night and that just brings a smile to my face."
"Of course it does," said Sam. "You know, there are still thirteen of them left."
"Well, yeah. I knew it wasn't going to be easy and it might take awhile to get them all, but if you get Edgar first, then the rest of them won't do anything and they'll be easy to dispose of."
"What about these brimstone rats of yours? What happens with them?"
"You're going to have to get rid of them."
"Fine, I'll get it done," responded Sam, hoping that would get rid of Satan for the time being.
"I know you will, Sammy, but let's talk of other things. So, you told Ted you were quitting, that's good. See, thanks to me, you get to say goodbye to that crappy job forever. Now you know that I'm not all that bad."
Sam merely scoffed in response to that.
"Speaking of which, I've already taken the liberty of crediting your account for the souls you captured. Normally, I'm going to wait until after the soul is back in Hell before I pay you the money, but I figured that this might take too long for that and I'll just pay you as you go on this one, just this one, though."
"Thank you," said Sam, reluctantly.
"You're welcome, Sammy," replied the Devil. With that, the Devil was gone as quickly as he appeared. Shaking his head, Sam focused on the road and continued his way home.
Over the next few days, Sam started slipping further into his own personal darkness. There was the fear, of course, that sick undercurrent of madness that threatened to consume him. On top of that, there was the guilt. He thought constantly of the danger he had thrust upon his friends and his girlfriend, the growing disconnection with his mother, the less-than-stellar life he would be giving to Charlie, and (here was the ultimate guilt-maker) killing Brandon.
He had to be stronger, better than he was now. The truth was that he was weak and he was endangering those he loved and it weighed on him more and more, as if every day another weight was added to the stack he was holding up. Before, he managed to get a couple hours of sleep a night, but now he got none. His eyes were ringed by deep black circles and heavy bags underneath. There was a time when he always made sure to mousse his hair and get it the way he liked it, but now he couldn't be bothered with that anymore. His appetite took the worst of it, as he hadn't had a bite to eat since that pizza he had ordered that night before he led his friends to that horrible place. He might as well have taken them to Silent Hill itself, considering how badly they took it. Ben was constantly jumpy and nervous and as for Sock, he had been having a hard time keeping his sense of humor together. Sam knew that they would recover from this, but he just wouldn't. It was yet another piece of baggage that he had to carry and he wanted so desperately to be able to set them all down.
It would've been foolish to think that Andi had noticed none of this, but he thought he was doing a pretty good job at keeping most of it internal. He hadn't told her the nature of his latest mission, except that he was going after a former cultist. She had been shockingly patient with him through all this, leading him to wonder why she bothered to stay with him at all. Every time he saw her, Sam had to resist the urge to apologize to her for everything.
Currently, he was sitting at home watching Charlie play on the living room floor. The little boy had started crawling recently and now he just couldn't be stopped. It was cute, that was for certain, but it was the beginning of a massive headache for him. Charlie just wanted to go everywhere and explore everything. Sam didn't have the energy to keep up with him anymore, being so sleep deprived.
He thought, as he had been thinking quite often these past few days, of Edgar Ross and his cadre of blind followers. The soul had kept quiet since their encounter the other night at the old mission. According to the file, which Sam was currently reviewing while keeping a watchful eye on Charlie, Edgar had moved on to a new belief structure. It required human sacrifices and he had been dipping into the local homeless population for that purpose. The thought of it made him a little sick at the prospect. He knew that he needed to get him off the streets and back in Hell as soon as possible, but wouldn't be able to catch him until he surfaced again. Unfortunately, it meant that he would have to wait for the soul to start taking people again. Sam had been keeping track of the local news, hoping to see something about the missing homeless. He was hampered by the media's lack of coverage of the city's invisible population. He would have to think of something, but he didn't know where to begin on this one.
Setting his job aside for the moment, Sam closed the file and turned his attention to Charlie. The little baby was currently occupying himself with gnawing on one of his toys and banging it on the floor repeatedly. "Hey, little dude," he said, "whatcha doin'?"
The baby ignored him, choosing to keep his entire focus on his toy. Sam got up and walked over to Charlie, who looked up to see what was going. The little boy smiled toothlessly at him and laughed sweetly. Sam crouched down and picked him up. "Come on, buddy, it's time to get ready. You've got a doctor's appointment today and you need a bath."
He went about bathing Charlie and dressed him in an identical outfit to what Sam was wearing. It was nice to have someone who he could be a role model to, not that he made a very great one. Still, it was the only thing he felt really good about in his life, save for his relationship with Andi. Nothing else really amounted to much for him, nothing that he could think of at any rate.
Sam was in the middle of preparing Charlie's day bag, when he heard a knock at the door. Grabbing Charlie, who was trying to untie his shoes, he walked to the door and opened it. A young man was standing in his doorway, shifting uneasily from foot to foot. He was taller than Sam and had dark hair that could stand a haircut. The most defining feature, though, was his ridiculous muscle mass. This guy was totally jacked, making Sam feel a little self-conscious about his own body. On top of all those observations, Sam realized that there was something familiar about this person, but he couldn't quite place it. "Can I help you," he asked, settling Charlie against his shoulder.
"Are you Sam Oliver?" asked the other man.
"I am. May I ask who you are?"
"My name's Sam Winchester. You called Bobby Singer about my father the other week."
They were sitting in the living room, both drinking coffee. Sam, who had taken to calling his visitor Winchester in his mind, was studying the other man. According to the police, he was supposed to be dead. It was on his mind and he wanted to ask the particulars behind that, but thought that he really didn't want to know the truth. Winchester was looking at Charlie, who was sitting rather patiently on Sam's lap and looking back at the stranger curiously.
"I'm sorry to hear about your father," said Sam, trying to start a conversation he had given up on expecting to happen.
"The message you left for Bobby said that my father was listed as your godfather," said Winchester, setting his mug on the coffee table.
"Yes, I discovered this only recently. Would you like to see it?"
"I would," said the other man, his expression absolutely unreadable.
"Alright, give me a minute." Sam stood up. "Would you hold Charlie for me while I go get it?"
"Uh, sure," said Winchester, looking a little nervous at this. Sam handed the baby over to the other man, who looked extremely uncomfortable and awkward at having to do this. Leaving them to get to know each other, Sam went into his room and found his birth certificate. He came back to see Winchester bouncing little Charlie on his knee and making ridiculous noises at him. Charlie was laughing and gurgling merrily, just soaking up the attention like a sponge.
"Got it," said Sam, deciding to interrupt the two of them. Winchester jumped in shock and almost sent Charlie flying. The baby didn't seem to mind and actually expressed further joy at the extra big bump. The two adults exchanged baby for document and Sam settled back in his seat. Winchester glossed over the certificate and said, "well damn, that's my old man's signature, alright."
"So, he was my godfather, but why didn't my parents ever tell me about him?" asked Sam, partially to himself and to his guest.
"Well, my father was a bit of a drifter; he probably moved on and your parents decided not to tell you about him because of that."
"I'd like to believe that, but knowing my parents as I do now, I have trouble buying it. They kept so much from me that I just tend to think they had ulterior motives for everything. I mean, how did they meet? What circumstances led to them knowing and trusting him enough to label him my godfather? No offense to your dad; I'm just trying to figure this out."
"None taken. My old man wasn't exactly a stable figure. I don't wish to speak negatively about him, especially now that he's passed on, but it's the truth. There may have been a time when he did something to greatly endear himself to your parents –something he's been known to do from time to time –and then left them and you. After my mom died, we moved around a lot and my dad busied himself with helping people. It's easy to assume that he helped your parents at one time and they were grateful enough to show him some sort of token of appreciation." Winchester concluded by picking his coffee up and taking another sip of it.
"I'm not disagreeing with you here; it's just that it's not the only thing my parents kept from me. Now, I don't want to get in to the details of it all, but I'll tell you that they kept some pretty crucial pieces of information from me and it hurt badly to find them out. In fact, some of this has endangered my life," said Sam, draining the last of his coffee, before setting the empty coffee cup on the table.
At the mention of his life being endangered, Sam Winchester perked up a little. He leaned in a little more and maintained steady eye-contact. "I think we're both talking about something big here, something we're both dancing around. Those things that your parents kept from you; I imagine that the truth behind them must sound strange, perhaps even impossible, the kind of stuff that if you told someone, they wouldn't believe you. Am I right?"
"You wouldn't be wrong," admitted Sam, "but what do you know of it?"
"Well, as I told you before, my dad started helping people around the country after my mom died. The problems he helped people with were…different than what most people go through. I do that same job now, myself."
"How 'different' were these problems you speak of?" asked Sam, cradling Charlie.
"The type of problems they throw you in the loony bin over, if you talk about them to anyone."
"I see," replied Sam, feeling odd at having this conversation. "Well, I don't know particularly why he's been listed as my godfather, but I understand how he might've been associated with my parents now. I'd like to talk with you more about this, but he's got a doctor's check-up today," he said, looking down at Charlie. "How long are you going to be in town?"
"For a few days," replied Winchester.
"Good. You don't mind, do you?"
"Not at all, what's your number?"
Sam gave him his cell number and the two of them shook hands and said their goodbyes, before parting ways for the time being.
Taking Charlie to the doctor's office and back had exhausted Sam, who was beginning to feel the effects of hunger and sleep deprivation. He knew that it was a bad sign and that he needed to take care of it, somehow. It hurt to acknowledge, but the Devil had made a good point the other night. Sam did need to let it all out and he needed someone to go to with it. The problem was that there was nobody for him to turn to, no one who could take the weight of it for him. Automatically excluded from this was Andi; there was no way in hell he would ever burden her with this. Second to be struck from the list were Sock and Ben jointly, Sock because there was the chance that he would just call Sam a whiner (something Sam didn't think he could handle just then) and Ben because he was too much of a worrier and would possibly let it affect his work too much.
Beyond those he had just listed in his mind, Sam saw no other viable choice. Sam had also considered Tony, but there were so many reasons against that idea. For one, Tony was in the middle of rethinking a lot of things about his life already and Sam had intruded on that enough already. Another reason was that there was some lingering distrust on Sam's end. He knew and trusted Tony well enough to know that he would help him against the Devil, but not enough to trust him with all his secrets and his pain. Silent Hill was a monument of darkness and suffering, an emblem representing all his fear and guilt. It was where he had lost himself and the last of his own light. From it all, his innocence had been destroyed and his own personal demons had been released. In the end, when the lid of that pandora's box had been slammed shut, all that remained inside was the dull glow of his second chance: Charlie.
The mere thought of the little baby caused Sam to peek in the rear-view mirror to steal a glimpse of him sleeping in his seat. He would need to stay strong for the little boy who now depended on him. With that, Sam spotted a diner and pulled into the parking lot. Getting out, he collected Charlie and went inside. The place smelled of grease, reminding him of every other diner he had ever been in. A flurry of bussers and waitresses were hurrying about, each looking overworked and underpaid. Sam walked over to the hostess, who got him a menu. "Just you two?" she asked.
"Uh, Yes. Do you have a high-chair?"
"Yes, I'll get it for you in a second. First, let me find you a table." She ushered him over to a window booth in the corner and set the menu down. "Here you go, Hon. I'll be back in a jiffy with that high-chair." The waitress rushed off leaving them alone for a moment.
Sam set Charlie in his car-seat on the table and sat down. It wasn't long before she came back with the chair and he got Charlie settled in it. He ordered a burger and fries for himself and an order of apple sauce and fish sticks for Charlie, figuring he could mash the fish sticks down a little for the baby if need be. Besides, according to the doctor, Charlie could probably handle a little more solid food every once in a while.
He was in the middle of forcing food down his throat, while taking the time to coax Charlie into eating some of the fish sticks he had mashed and broke apart, when he felt a presence looming over his shoulder.
"Sam? Sam Oliver?" asked a familiar voice.
Turning his head, he discovered it to be Sam Winchester. "Oh, hello again. What brings you here?"
"This place isn't too far from my motel, so I thought I'd stop by to get something to eat real quick."
"I see. Well, you're welcome to have a seat if you would like," Sam offered, gesturing to the empty seat across from him.
"Thank you, I think I will." Winchester sat down in the offered seat and the waitress set his menu down and took his drink order. He opened the menu and began looking through it, asking, "would you recommend anything here?"
"I've never actually been here before, but the burger's alright, I guess."
Winchester nodded thoughtfully at that and continued to look through his options. When the waitress came back, he ordered a burger for himself and handed the menu back to here. The waitress left and the newcomer settled his gaze on Sam, scrutinizing him with some unknown guideline and coming to a conclusion. "Usually, I wouldn't be so straightforward with someone I didn't really know, but I get the feeling that this is different, that you are different."
"What do you mean?" asked Sam, some part of him dreading where this conversation might go down.
"I'm not entirely sure myself, but I feel that it's for the best. I go around the country and help people with problems of a…supernatural nature."
Sam lifted an eyebrow, his thoughts going wild with what that could possibly mean and entail. Taking a drink of his soda to wash down the food in his mouth, he leaned in closer to give more careful attention to his companion. "Supernatural?" he queried to prompt the other man to continue.
"Yes, I help fight spirits, monsters, and demons (this last one definitely got Sam's attention). Those are just a few things I help take care of, there are tons more different things I've seen and handled. My point is that I'm here to help people with problems that society can't deal with. Sam, you have such a problem, don't you?"
There it was, the falling of the other shoe. Sam didn't know how he should respond to that question. Granted, a bit of help from some kind of expert in the field would be wonderful, but he still didn't really know this guy. Something told him to trust the other man, at least a little. The whole Devil thing would have to be left out, but maybe he could tell him about some of his problems without being too specific.
"I don't know if I should tell you everything," he began, "but I guess I could share some of it. Before I was born, my parents made a deal with something. My father was sick and this thing came to them with a cure. In return, it wanted the soul of their first-born, me. I didn't know about any of this until about a year ago when I turned twenty-one and the being came to me and I got the lowdown. Now, I have to work for it to capture those that belong to it, those that don't belong here."
Winchester appeared to be taking in what he had said. "It's hard for me to say how I can help you with so little information. I get the feeling that you don't want to identify this being by name, so tell me what you have to capture for it and we can go from there."
"Escaped souls from Hell," answered Sam and he felt some weight, one he hadn't noticed with all the other baggage he carried, lift from him in saying that.
"Wait, escaped souls from Hell?" asked the other man, sounding a bit skeptical.
Winchester's reaction was almost funny to Sam, leading him to wonder if his problem was far more than the other could handle or had ever even dealt with. Mostly, though, it only made him feel lower and more helpless. "Yeah," he said as he looked down at his plate, anything to avoid the other man's eyes.
"So, it's a demon that you're forced to work for, is that it?"
Sam only nodded in response.
"I've never heard of a deal with a demon where someone else's soul was what got traded. To be honest, I never thought it was even possible for a person's soul to be traded off without their permission." Winchester took a drink.
Sam felt crushed for some reason, despite knowing from the beginning that this stranger wouldn't be able to help him.
The other man apparently read his reaction and said, "listen, I'm still gonna do my best to help you, but I'm gonna need to make a phone call and do some reading. I still got your number and I can give you a call when I've got something." He paused and took another drink. "Tell me more about these souls you have to capture; what are they like?"
"Well, each one is different from the rest…" began Sam, going through a brief description of what it was like to capture escaped souls from Hell. He described all the different vessels he had been given to use on them and how they worked. It made him feel better, somehow, to talk about this with Sam Winchester. It was like a noxious poison was being drawn from his veins and allowing him to heal in some way.