Somewhen I was Meant to Be 1/9
~ Prologue ~
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In our darkest hours
We have all asked for some
Angel to come
Sprinkle his dust all around
But all our crying voices they can't turn it around
You had some crazy conversations of your own.
~~~
The Shins - So says I
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May 1999
This was so wrong.
This was so mind-bogglingly wrong.
This was so wrong, Sam didn't even have eloquent words for it anymore and if there was one thing Sam always had, it was words. It was the only thing that belonged to him and no one could take it from him. The only tool he had to repair what went wrong in his life, so he used it whenever he got the chance. Excessively so, thank you very much.
Tonight, though, he had resigned to a common pout which he knew would have no affect at all except making John Winchester even angrier. But Sam didn't care. All he cared about was that Shana Miller - the one who was sitting next to him in his biology course, whose hair smelled like apple trees and summer breeze and who had the cutest crooked teeth - would wait for him today. She would be waiting a long time and he wouldn't show up and it was all his father's fault. She would probably call him tomorrow, angry and disappointed and she would have every right to be pissed because Sam hadn't shown up for his very first date in his life because of his father's idea of getting a simple hunt done on a Friday night. Who does that?
"There'll be more girls, hopefully many more," Dean had tried to console him with a knowing smile which turned out more dirty than sympathizing. That had not helped raising Sam's spirits. On the contrary. He liked Shana and even though he knew they would be leaving in a few weeks again, he didn't want to be remembered as the guy who didn't show up for a first date.
Sam hated hunting. He hated this life and he hated the fact that he had obviously no say in it. At all. No words on this planet could change that.
And most of all, he hated his father. A fact he had vocalized really, really loud right into his father's face. "I hate you!"
He had screamed with all the conviction his teenaged, aching heart could muster but his father had merely pursed his lips before leaving the shabby motel room, urging his sons on without needing to say a single word.
It was the last thing he had said to his father for a very, very long time. Of course, he hadn't known that then.
The silence was heavy in the car--grinding teeth and piercing looks and emotions running high.
It was official now. His father was ruining his life.
Sam hated his life.
Oh and he hated this particular forest, too.
An owl was hooting in the distance and twigs were snapping under his boots, loud as cannon shots. In front of him, Dean was quietly humming Metallica, having the time of his life. The beam of his flashlight was steadily aimed at the ground in front of him but the rest was lying in absolute darkness due to the full moon hidden behind thick blankets of clouds. It was an extremely inappropriate scenario for what they had come for. Usually their huntings were well planned and the time wisely chosen but according to John Winchester's assessment nine missing people, three found dead, eleven mutilated cows and one very frightened town was enough reason to act.
But couldn't this have waited until at least tomorrow when he didn't have a rendezvous to attend to?
It had been an exceptionally hot day and now the steady drizzle of summer rain was evaporating after barely hitting the damp forest floor, causing white wafts of mist to rise into the air like huge transparent worms in search of something to eat. A creepy thought and really, really disgusting. Sam pulled a grimace and hurried to catch up with Dean, whose flashlight was bathing the mist into a dirty twilight.
"Dean, wait!" He hissed and almost stumbled before regaining his balance.
"Fuck, Sammy," Dean complained, his voice a deep growl. "Could you be any slower?"
"It's dark."
"That's what the flashlight is for, idiot."
So, now even his brother was angry with him, Sam realized and his heart sank even more, his throat constricting. He could deal with an angry father - he was actually used to it by now - but an angry Dean...? He swallowed the affronted retort that was lying on his tongue like a sweet pill turned sour and hung his head low to look where he was going. Dean was waiting and stared at him with a disapproving look that had such a similarity to his father's that Sam felt himself pale. If his brother was turning into a second John Winchester, Sam totally would jump in front of the next bus. But when he had finally reached Dean, a hand was patting his shoulder softly and Dean gave him a cheering smile. So no bus accident...yet.
"What time is it?" Sam asked and Dean fumbled with the sleeve of his jacket to look at his wrist watch.
"Ten to midnight," He answered after a short pause and looked back at Sam. "You ready?"
It wasn't Sam's first hunt. He'd gone hunting with his father and Dean for almost a year now and the feeling of excitement and curiosity had long given way to tired acceptance and frustration. So this is what he would be doing for the rest of his life? It felt wrong. And he wasn't even talking about Shana.
"Yeah," Sam answered, with little enthusiasm and Dean nodded, turned around and walked ahead, looking back a few steps to see if Sam was following.
"What? You need a written invitation or what? You know Dad relies on us."
Yeah, of course he does.
Their meeting point lay about half a mile north and they were supposed to meet there at midnight, sharp. Hunting an adze, a tiny goblin-like creature, wasn't their usual area of expertise, especially since Sam was convinced this particular creature hadn't hurt anyone--which was another point where Sam didn't exactly agree with his father's conclusion that the adze was responsible. Sam had done his homework, in contrary to his father. At least the one that had nothing to do with Analysis and American History. And even though all evidence given by witnesses they had interviewed pointed at an adze, the number of missing and dead people and mutilated animals told Sam otherwise. This was not an adze. This was something else, something way more cold-blooded and calculating than a supernatural creature the size of a plush teddy bear. Something that was no adze.
Low bushes and knee-high branches rustled and Sam lifted his head and let his gaze roam. It was probably little animals looking for food or trying to find refuge from the rain in some moldy hole in the earth. Nothing else. Dean's steps were already fading and Sam hastened along, his adrenaline spiking and the hairs on his neck rising. His vivid imagination betraying his cool demeanor. He was in dark forest after all.
"Dean, wait!" He yelled and felt childish for the fearful tone.
"You have legs, Sam. Use 'em," Dean hollered back at him. Then a loud noise shook the peace of nature's backyard when a shot rang out, coming from the direction they were heading to. Must have been their father's. Without waiting for Sam, Dean ran off, long legs flying over bushes, fallen trees and earth mounds whereas Sam's limbs flailed helplessly when he tried to mirror his brother's elegance.
The last growth spurt had caused his arm and legs to lengthen at an almost ridiculous rate. His body had lost all pudginess his brother had used to tease him with and replaced it with a gangliness that was source for new nicknames like beanpole and toothpick. Sam knew, there would always be something his brother would tease him about so he hadn't much hope of growing out of it other than knowing perfectly that he was just growing into something else his brother could make fun about. The light of his torch flew over the ground, mashing the plants in one dizzying mess under the soles of his shoes.
"Dean!" he yelled again, his chest heaving with the effort of keeping up. There, between the trees he could see the blurry outlines of Dean, fast as a bullet. Then he vanished and Sam forced his eyes to look at the point where he had last seen Dean.
"Fuck," he cursed vehemently, shining the light in a wide arch when he could hear small noises again, rustling and whizzing, hissing and screeching. Non-existent wind weaving its way through the undergrowth.
Just awesome!
"Dean!" His throat ached with the power of his scream but it was like the mist was surrounding him, coming closer and closer. Bony hands reaching out of the earth, clinging at his pants, clawing at his life. He halted for a second to catch his breath and used the second to observe his surroundings "Hello?"
This was how a little boy must feel when he was lost in a mall, Sam thought, sighing bitterly, and carefully walked on, aware of any sound that didn't belong here. He wasn't even sure what it was, exactly, that made his heart hammer in his chest and cold sweat break out on his forehead. A feeling of being watched, of being stalked, of being an easy prey. All alone in a big, dark forest. "Who's there?"
Footsteps, quite clearly now. Slow and measured as if that someone was sure Sam had nowhere to run to. "Dean? That's not funny!" It was a nice try, honestly, but Sam knew, this couldn't be his brother. Wouldn't be. Dean knew better than to play games on a hunt. Especially not after hearing their father shoot in the distance without knowing what was going on.
"Sammy, Sammy."
A voice - definitely not his brother's - came from somewhere to his right and Sam spun around to find a man standing a few feet away from him, casually leaning against a tree. His hands were in the pockets of his jeans and he wore a plaid fleece jacket. Maybe a ranger? Sam wondered. But how did he know his name? And what was he doing here in the middle of the night?
"Who are you?" Sam asked and his voice was surprisingly strong, not even a hint of his inner struggle to keep the panic under control.
The man sighed wearily, taking a step forwards which made Sam stumble one step backwards.
"Oh, we met. Don't you remember?" The stranger said conversationally, coming even closer. "Oh, of course you don't. I'm such a fool. Forgive me my mistake. You were only a baby and your mother was still very much alive, but..." He made a pause to let the words sink into Sam's brain like daggers into an old wound. "... you wouldn't know that of course. I mean your father doesn't tell you anything, now does he?"
A small laughter escaped his lips and Sam realized he had kept walking backwards, away from the stranger, his back now hitting against the slick, moss-covered bark of a lean tree, not thicker than his own arm. His fingers were gripping the handle of his flashlight, the plastic getting slick with sweat under his powerful grip and Sam's fleeting thoughts were making his head dizzy. His left hand felt along the surface of the tree, then the back of his jeans where he kept the small knife he had gotten from Dean for his birthday only weeks ago. It now felt like a gift from heaven even though he felt too lethargic to obey all of a sudden. His fingers tingled and he tried to take the knife but his body felt frozen, broken. The man was doing something to him. Something that made him freeze. How could he fight when he was frozen? How could he defend himself when his own muscles betrayed him?
"Oh, yes. Don't hesitate to use the knife on me. I was looking forward to a struggle, boy," The man sing-song-ed, not a worry in his voice, then snapped his fingers in a surprised manner. "Oh wait, you can't move."
Sam's eyes widened when a yellow glow appeared in the man's eyes, making his appearance not just scary but oddly familiar. Something tickled Sam's memories, just a bit.
"I'm almost sorry I have to do this, I am," The yellow-eyed man insisted and if Sam hadn't been so sure that he wouldn't stand a chance against him, he'd have believed him. There was a regret in those words, an almost sincere need to apologize that made Sam put on a confused face. He managed to take a small step aside, testing his way with his right foot but there was no ground. Quickly, Sam looked over his shoulder and panic rose fast enough to make his knee tremble with the sight of the dark abyss. He was standing on a rocky, uneven ground, his feet were sending small pebbles down the ragged edge. The other side was at least thirty feet away, a small grand canyon in the middle of a fucking no name forest.
"What do you want?" Sam wanted to know, aware of the fact that he needed time. Or distraction. Preferably both. "Why are you doing this?"
"You mean, why I am going to kill you?" Sam's breath got stuck in his throat. "Do you really want to know?" The man asked, coming closer, now only a few feet away.
Do I? If Sam were honest, he didn't want to know. He didn't care why the man was doing this. He wanted to live. Wanted to help his brother and his father with that ridiculous adze which wasn't an adze at all. Then head home to have a good night's sleep and get angry with his father because he would have to face an angry Shana.
Shana, Sam thought. She would have to wait a little bit longer, now.
"Yes," Sam replied finally, his voice still strong and offensive. He needed time. "Yes, tell me!"
Information was everything. Before going into a hunt you needed information. Every information you could get, no matter how unimportant it seemed, had to be found and brought into a context. A pattern. Every hunt was a small project with its own structure. Like an architect who was never building the same house twice and always had to start with a sketch and a deep hole in the ground where the foundation would stand one day.
"Well, Sammy, let's just say, a little bird told me that sometime in the future, you will be a very naughty boy," He explained and Sam felt oddly like the little boy who had stolen candy. "And if I have the choice, either you or me, I choose me. You understand that, right? You're such a smart boy, after all. So smart and yet so narrow-minded." He sighed again and Sam dared to look behind the man, watching out for Dean or his father to come and save his sorry ass. Hoping. Praying.
"They won't come, Sammy. Not this time."
His hope bled away as fast as it had risen, his breath coming in short gasps. They had to hear the pounding of his heart. They just had to. Because he couldn't move. He couldn't move a finger and the yellow eyes bore into him, looked into his soul, his very core of being and he understood. All of sudden he understood everything and it hurt so much he felt dizzy with it. He knew that he was going to die. Here in this forest and this man had it all planned out like he was the architect.
The man waved, just a casual wave with his hands, his head cocked slightly. And Sam could feel a force slam into him with the power of a steam train. His feet lost their ground and he fell. He fell and he fell and his last thought was that he didn't want his brother to find him. And that, really, he didn't hate his father after all.
Dean Winchester and his father searched the forest for hours. Two men, screaming their lungs out for the lost son. The lost brother. When they found him in the first light of the day, lying on the ground of the ditch, he was long gone.
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