Lock the Front Door / Men in Hospital Beds (Madison/Sam AU)
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is a weird little AU where Sam quits the Trials post-S8, but instead of spiraling into death he’s simply not in shape enough to hunt anymore (so you get hot!sickly!Sam don’t judge me). He retires and goes back to school; obviously, Madison not being a super!dead werewolf is also AU’d, and she is a fellow teacher. YOU’RE GONNA JUST HAVE TO ACCEPT MY CONVULTED AU LEANINGS. Also I am totally unfamiliar with school and college from a teacher perspective forgive me. Also mentions of not-actually-self-harm, just FYI.
Features some sick!Sam and some Madison/Sam.
I. Lock the Front Door
Madison sits calmly at the diner with a pen at her teeth and a laptop in front of her, getting herself lost and distracted by the hum of conversation and the smell of coffee beans; she loves this place, enjoys the sort of isolated togetherness, if that at all makes sense, even if her guard is always up (because when it comes to matters of restraining orders, it still pays to be watchful). It’s 4:30 and she still hasn’t even breached the bulk of reading through the whirlwind of essays and Q&A’s that her students are too certain are concocted simply as torture.
Maybe if she hadn’t caught sight of a familiar hulking figure in her peripheral, she would have had a better chance at being professional today. Someone’s ordering a coffee - someone who’s mane you could spot from pretty far away. She couldn’t help but smile at the thought, watching the oh-so-familiar man step aside, fiddle with his vest and coat as he anticipated the caffeine. Lately, she’s kept her distance from any new faces - Kurt is still a bitter memory that is certainly not that old - but Professor Winchester has been an earnest guy, out of the way, thoughtful and focused on his work. He’d been invited to a few special occasions in their little network, what with him being this mysterious new guy, though he had always seemed to shrink back and walk into whatever little abode he had somewhere out there, huddled in his own personal quietness. However, Madison had taken a liking to him too quickly. He was a good listener, and when she caught him here, she couldn’t help but give him a bit of a hard time.
“Professor Winchester,” she spoke up, eyebrows raised. “Hope you’re not playing hooky from your work.”
He turns in a half-circle, confusion blossoming into something in-between coyness and relief.
“Madison, hey.”
“Sam.”
First name basis happened a few months back, and she has to admit, he says her name in a way that makes her happy to have been here at the same time as him. She nods as he hesitates next to her table, which seems to be enough of a silent message for him as he quickly slides into the booth opposite of her. Of course, she’s already scanning him over, taking in his complexion for the day: a bit pale, dark around the eyes behind his glasses, but quick and bright-eyed. It’s a good day today, and she breathes a little easy for him as he fidgets with his wallet. Hadn’t quite put it back yet. It’s full of business cards and… old pictures, she thinks? She can see the plastic of picture holders.
“How’re you doing today?” she’s quick to ask, and he smiles a bit.
“I’m good. Doing really good, actually. Everyone in the classroom actually listened to me today.” That definitely earns a laugh while she closes her laptop, because she can imagine why some of them weren’t paying attention to the actual lesson itself. Sam motions to her work as she sets it aside. “You sure you’re not busy? I don’t want to distract you, or anything.”
“I’m distracted whether you’re here or not,” she says warmly. “This place sometimes gets me less focused than I was coming in, but I can’t help it. Actually… I was a little worried. I heard you had to cancel the class on yesterday after what happened Tuesday. Your kids were all concerned.” He looks down just as she says it, and she feels guilty; really, it’s probably not always so good to mention that he’s not feeling well. She’d get tired of hearing it, regardless of intentions, so she puts her hand up in surrender. “I’m sorry. I know that’s probably something you’d rather not - Sorry.”
“No, it’s fine,” he says with the shake of his head. His eyes are green, green and gray and maybe kind of blue. She’s a bit lost in them. He adjusts his glasses (he had admitted his vision had gotten bad a few years ago), snapping her out of that short-lived trance. “You know me, huh? Didn’t mean to worry anyone.” He stops, looks up to the worker as they deliver him his usual, and offers a quick thanks before he takes the mug in his hands. “Sometimes my lungs get… Allergies and asthma and all that. I wasn’t in the hospital or anything.”
“Sounds rough,” she says. Rough like his hand, she thinks. One of the palms has a big, gnarled scar on it. He must’ve been pretty active as a young guy, maybe. Or maybe it was self-inflicted… She already worries a lot about it. She’d seen his forearms before by chance, only to be drawn to very, very faint scar marks going across the tops. They didn’t look like he had been trying to actively kill himself, but it was still concerning. Did he hurt himself a lot before he started school? Was it because he was sickly? She wasn’t sure. “I’m glad you’re alright. But you know what would be even more alright?”
He’s in mid-sip, his eyebrows high on his forehead. “Mm?”
“If you went out and and lunch with me,” she says, quick with it. “Like, just you and me. I’ve had lunch with everyone but you, you know.”
“I’m not really…” he starts, but hesitates.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to, but… you’re kinda always off on your own, you know?” Her lips quirk as she gives him her best smile. Maybe it works, because he looks a bit caught off-guard. “Do you have anyone to talk to around here? It’s good to have a support system. You’re a new teacher, too, so if you ever need any advice or help, I’m always here to speak with. Or… I don’t know. I would just hate to not offer it. When I was going through a hard time, the others on campus, they were kind of… my pillar. Support.”
“Your divorce,” Sam says, like he’s listing off facts, and then he’s turning pink in the face as her expression slides into surprised confusion. “I - crap, I’m sorry. That’s not something you just… I overheard.”
But she just laughs, high and happy. “I guess we both suck at conversation. Look at all the landmines we’re stepping on.”
The conversations are peaceful, though. They meet a few times like this for a few months, until it becomes a schedule; it sort of evolves into something more personal - quieted voices, whispers and soft tones in small restaurants. Madison tells him about Kurt, about all that grief and how it’s still a difficult situation. Sam talks about feeling guilty all the time, about letting his brother down and getting the way he is, how he’s unable to do what he used to. She prods him to call his brother, and Sam prods her to tell him if there’s any trouble at all with her ex-husband. And it’s nice, you know? It’s wonderful. There are some days where he’s too sick and she’s on her own - and fretting. Fretting until she finally bites the bullet and stops by his small home with some soup, looks up at him as he answers the door with a pink nose and a handkerchief in his hands and messy hair. And she’s watching him gratefully sip on soup, watches him get happily embarrassed by the visitation - and by her seeing his scarily clean and efficient set-up. Watches him nod off and snap back to attention.
And oh, god, she’s smitten with him.
And oh god help her, she’s leaning over and kissing him on the cheek.
And he’s got this surprised, dazed look, like maybe this was all a fever dream.
The next time she’s over, just a few days after, his face is a bit more colored and he’s kissing her first - with her face in his hands, like he’s been waiting for her to appear at his front door again since the last time.
… She’s not sure what’s happening after that, but she’s at least coherent enough to lock the front door.
II. Men in Hospital Beds
Madison slides into the hospital room, feeling small and unprepared in the wake of the sterilized after-scent - it always reminded her of when her grandmother passed away, how everything had had this intense smell, thishomely look, like they were trying to mask everything dark and lonely and scary about this kind of place. Sam’s hospital room has a framed picture of the beach and a decent little vase of flowers, but more nicely, there are Get Well cards and balloons sitting beside his bed, next to his curled hand; he’s napping, it seems, so she bites her lip and wanders over to investigate each little note and flower, plucking up any stray petals. It’s all given by teachers and students, pretty much, and it’s cute, seeing the progress he made worming his way into the faculty and campus… even if he’s still far too quiet and to himself (well, understandable, but Madison enjoys going out too much to comprehend the feeling).
A throat clears to her left, and she nearly leaps into the next floor in surprise, a card clasped to her breast.
“Sam!” she yips, trying to glare at him and failing.
“I’ve got good hearing,” he says roughly, voice like sandpaper.
He’s got one tired eye turned to her, pale lips turned upward into a sharp little smirk. He really does look bad today, she thinks. It makes her shoulders relax and her expression soften, as she slides to sit down next to him in the chair. It’s so peaceful in here, in this room. Quiet. Hospitals can be hit and miss sometimes - energy in here is like ocean waves, breaking on rocks or gliding gracefully back from the shores. If she closes her eyes and listens very intently, she could hear children playing outside with an exasperated mother on their heels. Carefully, she readjusts the stolen card to sit back on the small shelf, and smiles at him and his pale expression.
“You scared the crap out of me,” she says.
His smile drops a bit, more sincere. “Sorry.”
And really, that is what she expected. He always apologizes when he’s not fit and ready, but she doesn’t particularly expect him to be, so she wishes he’d stop repeating himself; there’s nothing he has to say anything for. Well, except - “If you’re not feeling well, you shouldn’t force yourself through class. And - be honest with me. You said it’s all just bad allergies and all, but… I mean… pneumonia, Sam. That’s a big deal. People can die from that.” She reaches over at his silent, assessing stare, fond at the way his eyes flutter closed when she tucks his hair back. “I care about you. I mean, if the rough sex every other day wasn’t a sign.”
He chokes on a laugh, flustered. “That wasn’t manual therapy?”
A huff. “Sam…”
And he seems to be a little more serious about it, clasping and unclasping his hand slumped beside him. Turns his face away just enough, and Madison has spent enough time with him to know it means he’s somehow ashamed of himself in some way, somehow. She rubs her palm across his arm, feeling the slight goosebumps there. After a moment, he turns to look wearily at Madison, and… she’s not sure she’s ever seen him look so tired. And that is truly saying something. It makes fear coil in her stomach, because he’s not telling her what’s wrong, and she needs to know what’s wrong -
“A few years back, I got sick. Really, really sick. It’s… It’s just something that came up, you know? I wasn’t always sick. I don’t know how long it’ll be for, or if it’ll ever go away. I’m not sure if it’ll kill me or not, or when. But I… I’m just trying to move on and take care of myself, you know? One step at a time. One foot in front of the other. But I don’t… It’s been getting worse, and I don’t want you to be here with me without knowing that it’s all just… up in the air, sometimes.”
Before she even really grasps the reality of what it could all mean (and really, she suspected, but to hear it from his mouth…), Sam’s reaching out to her and clumsily wiping tears up with a Kleenex before they can even reach her chin. She hates that he’s so calm about this sort of thing, but it makes sense; he’s had to live with it. She still wishes he’d get angry, or upset, or something. Madison isn’t sure if she’s an idiot or selfish or thinking that way, but it just sounds more like he’s accepting whatever happens to him like it’s fated. Like he doesn’t mind it even a little.
“Thanks, I’m sorry, I just,” she tries, and then takes a deep breath. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“I know,” he says.
“I just love you a lot,” she manages.
Sam’s eyes widen slightly, then softens. “You do?”
“Don’t be dumb, of course I do. I love the hell out of you, Sam. And I’m gonna do whatever I’ve got to do. Just let me know if you ever need anything, okay?” She blows her nose, mopping up the shambles of her mascara. “Stupid. Asking if I love you; you’re dumb. And if you try to do anything crazy while you’re not feeling good, I’m gonna kick you across the campus. That’s a promise. I’ll go feral on your ass.”
“Sounds like a fun date,” Sam rasps. “I love you, too.”
She squeezes his hand, unsure if she feels better or worse. Whatever the case, she’s got this guy roped, and he’s not gonna be running off on her anytime soon, even if he’s the world’s guiltiest teacher. And there’s no way he’s going to deal with this alone, not like he’s probably been doing. She gives pause. “Do you want me to contact your brother, or… anything at all? Are you comfortable? Did the doctor say anything about eating?”
Sam shakes his head. “Dean was working a… uh. A job. I don’t want to bother him until he’s done.” She wonders if Dean would even keep working if Sam’s in the hospital. She’d like to imagine not. She’d like to imagine he’d haul ass here. If she had to guess, she would say Sam already feels bad enough that he’s not able to be there for his family. What little there seems to be; he’s only ever mentioned a living brother. A boy named Kevin who’s attending college, and a girl named Charlie, who’s attending ’cons’. There’s a Jody and a Cas. She wonders if they know he’s here, trying to move on with his life. If they know he struggles.
She’s glad that at least she and their friends know.
“You shouldn’t ever have to be alone,” she says, more firmly. Her fingers stroke over his knuckles, echoing support. “I’m here to help you.”
Sam smiles. “I’m glad. Thank you.” And then, a bit more humored: “… Could you grab my glasses? You look like I’m staring through a jellyfish.”
Well, her preferences for men in glasses is a blessing.
Men in hospital beds, less desired.
But they’ll figure it out.