Spoilers: Great big fat ones for Heart! Thanks to Starliteyes for looking this over for me.

Broken

Chapter Four

Sam settled into his new routine fairly quickly. The first week was a hassle trying to get added into classes that were already full, but at least he knew his way around campus. Since he was a late registrant, the only room available to him was in the freshmen dorm. It felt a little like moving backwards, but as always he adjusted.

His roommate was more than a little wary of him. The first time Sam went to college he had made a concerted effort to be pleasing, affable, downright friendly. He had wanted so badly to fit in, to be normal that he had been disgustingly accommodating. But now, Sam couldn't seem to summon up his previously easy going nature. Instead, he was sullen, broody, and more than a little cynical.

Most of his friends had graduated the year before, but there were a handful left behind taking graduate courses. He made obliging small talk with them, but he no longer felt the urge to connect with them. There was so much that he couldn't tell them about the last year, which only compounded on top of his previous lies about his childhood. He suddenly felt tired, and his listlessness sapped the energy he needed to deflect the natural questions his friends had, so he choose the easy route, and kept them at arm's length.

His third week into the semester, a package arrived from Bobby. He toted it up to his dorm, barely acknowledging his roommate who quickly slid out of the room at his appearance. He plunked it down on his desk, strewn with papers and thick textbooks. He ripped off the plain brown wrapping to find a top-of-the-line laptop and a quick hand-written note.

Disappointingly, the note was from Bobby. Sam had been half-hoping that Dean would have taken the time to at least add a line, but he wasn't surprised that he didn't. All that Bobby had to say was that everything was fine back at the junk yard, and that Dean was the one to purchase the laptop for him.

Sam took the PC out of the box, trailing his fingers reverently over the white, durable plastic lid. The tight knot that had formed in the center of his chest loosened a fraction. Even though Dean hadn't written or even called him since he left, it said a lot that he had taken the time to hustle the money to buy a laptop for Sam. He wanted there to be more from his brother, even words of anger would be preferable to the silence, but Sam knew better than to expect it. He would just have to be thankful for what he had.

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As usual, classes were easy for Sam. He had the ability to read something once and have it stick into his brain like glue. As the weeks passed, he found himself writing furiously in his yellow legal pads while in class, only to realize later that he wasn't taking notes, but theorizing on the origin of vampirism, or the existence of EMF.

One of the first things he had done since coming back to Stanford was to reestablish his morning routine of stopping for coffee on the way to class. He started out picking up the Stanford Daily to read while waiting, but by the end of the month he was spending more on newspapers than he was on coffee, and hello Starbucks was not cheap.

As the months rolled by, his grades began to slip. Instead of spending his nights cramming, he would do research on obscure deaths in the area. He stopped studying on the weekends all together, opting instead to go on small hunts. Nothing very big and something he could always handle. For three weeks he subsided on Top Ramen and Cheesy Mac so he could buy himself a shotgun and load it with homemade shells filled with rock salt so he could hunt a poltergeist in the next town over.

He thought maybe he was searching for something that he couldn't find. A connection, the comforting warmth of a memory of him and Dean together, but instead he only found death and decay that permeated his loneliness.

Winter crouched down upon Sam and the desolation of it sunk deep into his bones. Christmas came and went without a word from Dean. It was only through Bobby that Sam knew that his brother was still alive and hunting endlessly. Sam slipped further into a depression, finally realizing that the dull pang in his chest were the remnants of his loneliness and despair. Guilt ate at him in his dreams, and he relived the moment he pulled the trigger and lost the last remains of his family over and over. Dean was still alive, but he might as well be as dead as their father for all the attention he showed Sam.

In mid-January Sam was sitting at a small table at Starbucks, the San Francisco Chronicle spread out before him, when he found an article about a series of murders that took place during the nights of the full moon. Some quick research and slightly illegal hacking revealed that all the victims were missing their hearts. He knew right away that he had a hunt.

Werewolves. Sam sat back in his chair, staring out the window at nothing particular. He could practically hear Dean crowing in the back of his head. His brother would totally dig something like this. Absently, Sam pulled out his phone, scrolling down his contract list until Dean's name was highlighted. He wanted so badly to call his brother, to tell him that he had found something big, but when he tried to move his thumb his whole body cramped. Guilt rode high on his shoulders, pushing him down until he slumped in his seat, the phone loosely cradled in his big hand.

Although Dean had sent him the laptop, Sam was no longer fooled into believing that it was an olive branch. Dean hadn't sent him a gift because he was interested in reconciliation. He was doing what he was hardwired to do: take care of his little brother. Dean didn't want to talk to Sam, or have anything to do with him. His silence for the last six months made that abundantly clear. Sam tried to tell himself that Dean just wanted some space and to be left alone. As the weeks flowed into months, Sam feared that Dean would never forgive him.

Sam had to learn to respect Dean's wishes, no matter how much it hurt. He had no right to thrust himself into his brother's life after what he had done. As far as he was concerned, he didn't even have the right to say that he had a brother. Sam was a disgrace, and no amount of belly-crawling was going to change that.

Sam slammed his phone shut, pocketing it roughly. He closed his laptop, packing it away in his leather bag, along with the folded-up newspaper. Sam had just enough money to get him a bus ticket to San Francisco, but after that he would have to hustle for some food.

A year and a half ago he would have been appalled at the thought of pool sharking. The entire time he had been at Stanford, Sam had worked decent low wage jobs to pay for his essentials, but now he found that he just didn't have the time to deal with the hassle. He would rather find a bar far enough away from the campus to hustle some pool. Subconsciously, Sam knew that it was his way of trying to be closer to his brother, and finally after the year and a half that he had just lived through, he was fine with that realization.

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Madison was a nice girl with long brown hair and big doe eyes. She had a sweet, sad smile that made Sam want to stand up taller and show her what kind of protector he could be. Sadly, she had a stalker ex-boyfriend who Sam was pretty sure was a werewolf. That didn't deter Sam though, he had seen worse. He spent an entire day talking to her when he should have been hunting. He used the excuse that he was sticking around to see if Kurt would show up, but the truth was that he couldn't seem to walk away from her. She was the complete opposite of what Jess had been, and yet, they were eerily similar in ways that made Sam's heart constrict.

It had been a while for Sam, but she was into him, he could tell. He wanted to stay in her apartment forever. It was a cocoon of warmth and acceptance that he hadn't even realized he was craving. It had been so long since he connected with someone. Just having the opportunity to talk seemed almost novel to him. She knew nothing about him or his life, only that he was there to help, and there was something freeing about that. Finally he had to leave, but only after Madison extracted a promise from him that he would be back soon. Her dark eyes glittered when she looked up at him, and Sam felt something close to anticipation tighten around his chest when he told her that he would be back soon.

Sam trailed her ex around town, always a half a step behind. Finally, he caught up to Kurt at his apartment, but when he arrived he found Madison hunched over the dead man, her face contorted with fangs and smeared with blood. She leaped at him, and he was just barely able to ward her off with a slash to her arm with a silver knife. She sprang out the window, leaving him along with the freshly rent corpse of her ex-lover.

He tried to stand, but a wave of dizziness washed over him, and he realized that he had slammed his head harder against the wall than he thought. He slid back down to the floor, unable fight the unconsciousness that engulfed him.

In the morning when he woke, the first thing he became aware of was the pounding in his head. The second thing was the sick twist in his stomach. Madison was the werewolf. Sam couldn't believe that he had missed it. Sometimes he wished the evil bastards that roamed around would just brand themselves on the forehead so he would know right off, before---before he developed feelings.

Sam pulled himself up, shaking off his dizziness and unease. He checked the load on his .45, feeling the sickness in the pit of his belly cramp at the silver glint of bullets in the clip. He tucked the gun in his pants, his mouth pulled down into a firm line of determination.

When Madison opened the door to his knock, her eyes lit up in a way that almost made him doubt himself. If she really was a werewolf she shouldn't be so happy to see him. He thrust down the unease in his gut and pushed his way into her apartment, pulling his pistol with smooth, easy grace. He shoved the gun into her face, backing her up into a straight back chair, while studiously ignoring the coalescing expressions of shock and fear that flowed over Madison's delicate features.

Sam should have shot her right then. There was no reason for him not to. There was no reason to tie her to a chair. There was no reason to listen to her while she pleaded with him. And there certainly was no reason for him to watch the tears roll down her face. Perhaps it was his own way of punishing himself. Penitence for the crimes he had committed in the name of his father's righteous quest. It was the only explanation he could think of. It certainly wasn't because he was weak. He had proven his ability to kill nearly six months ago. And that had been his own father. This was just a woman whom he barely even knew.

"Sam, you're sick. You're imaging things. Monsters don't exist. Not really."

Sam stood across from her, his arms crossed defensively, his gun tucked to the side. He kept his game face on, and in the back of his mind he thought about how proud Dean would be of him, but that didn't stop the hurt that was spreading through his heart. She was so scared, so sure that he was the monster, and deep inside he knew she was right. Only a real monster would kill his own father.

"You know what, save the act," Sam exploded, suddenly furious. He paced past her, escaping her big doe eyes that were chewing him up with remorse.

"It's not an act! I'm not a werewolf. There is no such thing. It's made up. They're not real. You know they are not real." Panic was straining her voice, and he could hear it break with tears. His chest constricted and his first instinct was to hide behind anger.

In one step he was beside her, squatting down so he could point his gun at the slash across her arm. The damning proof that she had been the one in the apartment. She had murdered Kurt and then attacked Sam because he had been a threat. The cut only solidified what Sam already knew. He was going to have to kill her.

"No? Then where did that come from?"

"I don't know. Sam, God you need help. Please don't do something you are going to regret. I'm not what you think I am. I'm not."

Her words dug down deep and stabbed him in the guts. Her eyes were so big that he felt like he could fall into to them. They shimmered with tears, huge liquid pools of fear and sadness.

She asked him not to do something he would regret, but regret was his constant companion. He didn't know if he could do it again. He didn't know if he had it in him to kill another person. And she was just a person. No matter how much his rational brain was telling him that she was a murdering werewolf, his heart was convinced that she had no knowledge of her actions.

He knew from experience what a lie looked like. When he peered into her dark velvet eyes, he saw no hint of deceit. She honestly had no knowledge of her actions. How could he condemn her for something that wasn't even her fault? How could he execute her, when the eyes looking back at him weren't a werewolf's, but an innocent woman's?

He had to save her. He had to do what he couldn't do six months ago when he stood over his father in that old, decrepit cabin. This was his chance to redeem himself--to show his brother, to show himself that he really wasn't a worthless, murdering bastard. He could do this. He could save her.

"Madison, when were you mugged?" During their afternoon long conversation the day before, Madison had confessed to a life changing event. Being a victim of a random violent crime made her realize that life was short. She had dumped Kurt, and pursued life with a fresh new perspective and a hunger to succeed. Sam wondered now how much of that was the woman, and how much was animal instinct.

She looked at him, her mouth pressed into a firm line of defiance. Her face was wet with tears, and flushed with terror, but she was trying so hard to be brave.

"Please, it's important. Just answer the question."

She grimaced, clearly uncertain at what he was getting at.

"About a month ago.

"Did you see the guy?"

"No. He grabbed me from behind."

"Did he bite you?"

The defiance on her face fell away and confusion clouded her eyes.

"How did you know that?"

Sam felt hope flutter through his chest, and he barely contained the urge to smile with joy. During his year with Dean he had read their dad's journal backwards and forwards, memorizing nearly the entire thing. One of the entries that he remembered clearly was John's theory on a cure for lycanthropy. If you severed the bloodline then it might cure the victim. It was a big might, but Sam had to try it.

"Where?"

"On the back of my neck."

He showed her his gun, making sure her eyes followed it to the table where he placed it gently. Hands up, he circled behind her. He lifted her soft, dark hair from her neck, shifting it aside so he could see the pockmarked scar where she had been bitten.

"That's just a love bite," he muttered to himself, still holding her hair in his hand. It felt different than Jess's had. It was soft and silky while Jess's had been kinky with curls. He wanted to stand there and thread his fingers through the dark silk, but that chance had been lost the second he had shown her all his cards, complete with a pearl-gripped .45.

"Where were you when this happened?" Sam dropped her hair and stepped away. He stood behind her, so she couldn't see the raw hunger that filtered over his face.

"Walking home from a friend's loft."

"Let me guess. Not too far from Hunter's Point."

She nodded and the hope in Sam's chest grew. He could save her. He knew that he could. He could do this one thing right, and just maybe he could redeem his tarnished soul just a tiny bit.

He had to go hunting tonight. The werewolf that turned Madison would be prowling its hunting grounds, and Sam had to catch it. He circled around to her again, stopping dead in his tracks at the hopelessness that was reflected in her eyes. Somehow she had come to the conclusion that his line of questioning had only damned her cause more. A single tear slid down her cheek, and suddenly something hot and heavy tried to force its way into Sam's throat.

"Please, just let me go."

Her soft plea shattered something inside of Sam. He grabbed a chair, pulling it close to her. He needed to explain to her that he was going to be able to save her. He needed to swear it to her, because only by doing so would he be able to make it happen. He had to believe that.

"Look. I know you're scared. I also know that there is no way in hell that you are going to believe me. But I'm doing this, because I'm trying to help you."

Her small elfin face crumbled at his words, and more tears slid down her cheeks. Her defiance had long since melted away, leaving her fear bared to him like naked skin. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and shield her from the monsters that tormented her, but he couldn't. Sam was her monster. Her demon. How was he supposed to protect her from himself?

"I'm not going to lie. The odds aren't exactly in our favor, but if this goes the way that I pray that it does. I'll untie you, walk out that door, and never come back. You'll live the rest of your life, and I'll just be a bad memory."

She just stared into his eyes, searching for the truth of his words deep in his soul, but she didn't have the same experience that he did with lies and she couldn't see past the silver .45 in his hand. She dropped her eyes to her lap, her shoulders stooped with defeat. Sam closed his eyes, fighting back his disappointment, before he stood up. Wordlessly, he grabbed the back of her chair, tipping it back on two legs. She gasped in fright, but didn't say a word as he dragged her backwards into a large walk-in closet. He set her upright in the center of the small room, surrounded by winter coats and boxes of trinkets that she never looked at anymore.

He turned back before he closed the door, their eyes meeting across the short distance. Sam wanted to say something to reassure her, to convince her that he wasn't going to hurt her, but for the first time in his life, he was out of words. Her terror had choked them out of him.

"I'll be back in the morning. I promise."

Her dark eyes flickered, and Sam knew that his vow did little to ease her. After all, to her, Sam was nothing more than a psychopath who waved a gun in her face, tied her to a chair, and was now locking her in a closet. It was then that Sam realized that there were varying degrees of monstrosity, and in her eyes he was one of the worst.

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When Sam opened the closet the next morning, he found Madison lying on the floor, naked and shivering. The closet was torn apart, the coats shredded, and the walls deeply scarred with claw marks. He watched silently as she looked around her, shock and awe etched as deeply on her face as the scratches on the walls. She crossed her arms over her body, shielding her nakedness more from herself than from Sam. He averted his eyes to give her the privacy she needed, while watching her covertly from beneath the veil of his thick lashes.

She reached out a trembling hand to pull a torn, but serviceable sweater to her, wrapping it around her body. She struggled shakily to her feet. Sam had to fight the urge to step into the room and help, but he held his ground, instinctively knowing that she would shy away from any contact with him.

After she absorbed the chaos of the room, and the fact that she was the one and only occupant, she lifted her dark eyes to stare at him.

Sam was haggard from a long night of hunting. He had finally caught Glenn, Madison's next door neighbor in the early morning hours trying to take a bite out of hooker down on Hunter's Point. When Sam had pumped the silver slug into Glenn, he hadn't died instantly. The wolf had melted away, leaving a scared and wounded man in its wake.

Glenn had turned his terrified eyes onto Sam, blood pouring from his mouth as he asked what had happened. Sam hadn't been able to find the words to answer him, so he had crouched down and held the scared man's hand as the darkness of death stole into his eyes. The walk back to Madison's had been one of the longest in Sam's life, only comparable to the trek from the backwoods cabin to the Impala after he killed his father.

On the one hand he was happy to have saved Madison, but on the other, he had to kill another human being to do so. To Sam it didn't matter that Glenn had been a monster. For three weeks out of the month, Glenn had been a man, unaware of his actions during the full moon. It seemed unfair to punish the human for the actions of the wolf, but there was no other way.

"It should be over now. You'll never see me again." Sam's words were soft and sad. Madison turned away to look at the destruction she had wrought, still speechless. When she turned back, Sam was gone, leaving her alone with the quiet knowledge that he really had saved her.

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Sam was a tall man. There was no hiding that fact. Even though his height gave him away, Sam was very good at blending into his surroundings. He stood in the shadows of the building across from Madison's bedroom window, out of sight. Even though he was convinced that by killing Glenn he had saved Madison, he couldn't leave until he was sure.

He watched her silhouette as she paced back and forth, before disappearing from the window. Sam sank further into the shadows as Madison left her building, walking across the sidewalk and up to the edge of the street. She was staring right at him, and he knew it was useless to pretend.

"How did you know I was here?" he asked from the shadows, still as far away from her as he could get. He didn't have to raise his voice much. The sharp, crisp air carried his words across the road to her.

"Kurt has been stalking me for the last month. That sort of thing makes a girl aware of her surroundings."

Sam allowed a half smile to curl up on the corner of his mouth as he emerged from the shadows.

"I suppose it does."

"What are you doing here, Sam?"

Sam shoved his hands into the front pocket of his jeans, his eyes skittering away to look down the street.

"Look. I'm pretty sure that I've severed the bloodline, but I've got to hang around and make sure."

"So you're waiting to see if I'll turn."

Sam shrugged, not quiet meeting her eyes.

"Well, you might as well come up then. Get's cold here at night."

Sam's hazel eyes flickered up to meet her dark velvet ones. The look in her eyes was sincere, and Sam was momentarily taken aback. He thought for sure that if she caught him lurking around that she would call 911, not invite him back into her apartment.

"Look. I'm not stupid, okay? I saw the closet, and I spent the day doing some research. Every month since Glenn moved here a year ago, women have ended up dead, their hearts missing."

She trailed off, like she wanted to say more, but couldn't find the words. "Yah?" Sam prompted and she shifted slightly with unease.

"You were telling the truth, weren't you? About everything. What you did, it was to help me. I did all those horrible things when I turned."

Sam crossed the street in record time, his eyes wide with concern.

"You didn't know." Sam made an aborted reach for her, but his hand dropped away at the last second. He was still uncertain of her reaction to his touch—to his caress.

"But that doesn't make it right, does it? People are dead because of me. Innocent people. I need--" She crossed her arms and looked away. Sam's fingers grazed her jaw, pulling her eyes back to him.

"What?"

"I need you, Sam. I'm afraid to be alone."

Sam nodded wordlessly, pulling her into a non-threatening one-armed hug that was meant to reassure her, but she had other ideas. She looped both her arms around his waist, and pressed her warm body against the length of his.

"Come upstairs, and stay the night with me, Sam," she whispered, her warm breath lingering on his throat. Hot need shimmered down his spine and curled in the bottom of his stomach. He swallowed hard and nodded against her hair that smelled like cucumber melon.

She stepped back, smiling brightly up at him. She placed her delicate hand in his large one, and led him up the stairs to her apartment. Once inside, all the need and want in Sam exploded to the surface. He trapped Madison against a wall, lifting her up so he could fit his body into hers as he kissed her feverishly. She returned his kiss, thrusting her tongue against his in a silken slide that made his entire body shiver.

They made love most of the night, finally falling asleep well after midnight. Sometime in the wee morning hours, Sam awoke with a start, knowing instinctively that something was wrong. He sat up, searching the room intently for Madison.

She was crouched next to him, her milky blue eyes radiating animal intelligence. He lunged forward, trying to grab her arm before she could escape, but she swiped her claws at him, catching him across the cheek. She leapt out of the window before he could recover, disappearing into a swirl of San Francisco fog.