Fic - Lost and Found
Title: Lost and Found
Summary: Future/Season 13 Fic (speculative only, so no spoilers). Sam travels back to the alternate dimension to save Mary, only to bump into an all too familiar face.
Rating: PG13
Genre/Spoilers: Gen. No spoilers, speculation and wishful thinking only.
Word Count: 2500+
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural that privilege belongs to CW, Kripke and Co, I'm simply borrowing them for a while. I'm not making a profit, this is just for fun and all the standard disclaimers apply.
A/N: A massive thank you to harrigan for all the brainstorming and sanity checks! All mistake are mine, and mine alone. This came up in a conversation with amberdreams on a post by caranfindel a while back and I couldn't get the idea of out my head, so I just had to write it, and thought with only a few days until season 13 airs, this seemed like a good time to post. I hope you enjoy.
A/N: For my spn_j2_xmas gift, the wonderful alyndra wrote me a fic that fits so well with this, but with a slightly different twist and told from Jess's POV. You can check it out here.
Lost and Found
It's Jess, but it's also not.
Same mole between the same blue eyes, same blonde hair, although it's tied back in a scruffy top knot now, not free-falling curls that used to tickle his face when they kissed.
She's holding a gun bigger than his whole arm, and she's aiming it right between his eyes. Her grip is sturdy, her stance is confident, and her aim is true. She's no rookie.
Her lips are pinched and the heat of her glare feels like it's burning through his skin. Her study boots are laced tightly, and she's packing at least two more concealed weapons in ankle straps that he can just make out from under her camouflaged pants.
“I'm the best shot in over three hundred miles, and if you look at me like that for one more second, you're gonna learn that from first hand experience.” Her tone is flat but fierce, and there's a gravelly texture to her voice that Sam doesn't remember. But it's been years since he's heard her voice, and now he feels like it's some kind of siren call, deafening out the rest of the world, and beckoning him towards her.
Sam swallows deeply, frozen to the spot, and tries to shake the spell away. He tosses his gun onto the dirt, and holds his palms out in surrender. “I don't want any trouble.”
His words sound weird to his ears, stuttered and far away, and like they've come out of someone else's mouth. Maybe he's in shock or something. He's seen some crazy shit over the years, but this one is tough. This one hurts in a whole new and unexplored way.
Jess is alive, and real, and standing right in front of him. But this isn't the Jess that Sam knows, this is someone different.
This Jess is looking at him like he's some kind of bug that she's deciding if she needs to squash beneath her boots. Weapon still raised, she steps forward, picks up his gun, and tucks it into the waistband of her pants.
The wind howls, whipping up a cloud of dust and ash that seems to fill this world. The khaki coloured scarf she's wearing around her neck billows in the wind, and Sam catches a glimpse of a wicked looking scar like someone slit her throat. Or tried too.
“You from that other world?” She asks, the gun still levelled at his head.
“Yeah, and I'm looking for someone else who came here from my world.” He probably should have prepared some kind of alternate reality speech, but it sounds like Jess already knows something about it. Besides, once they eventually found a way back to this world there wasn't time; only one of them could go, and when Sam volunteered, Dean just nodded, looked him in the eye, pulled him into a hug and told him to bring Mom back home. And that's exactly what Sam's going to do, no matter how many familiar faces he sees along the way.
There's something about Jess's expression that Sam recognises; the stillness of concentration as she works her way through solving a problem. She straightens her shoulders, and lowers her aim to his chest.
“Sam Winchester.”
It's not a question, and there's a fleeting flare of hope that maybe somehow she knows him; remembers him from another life she never knew existed, in another world she only just found out about. But that's just not possible. Sam Winchester was never born here. He never met Jess at Stanford, and they never kept meeting accidentally-on-purpose for late night coffee and study sessions, or walked along the beach holding hands on their first date. They never moved in together, or shared a bank account, or fought about whose turn it was to do the laundry.
This Jess never got the chance to fall in love with Sam. Because his Jess did; Sam knows she did love him. He doubts it sometimes on his darkest days, questioning how she could love someone she didn't truly know. But his own feelings, his own love for her is still here all these years later; treasured and hidden away somewhere safe, protected from all the other crap he has to keep locked down.
Hearing her say his name dredges up long lost memories that he spent too much time trying to bury. The pain steals the breath from his lungs, makes his guts churn, and his head feel too light, like it might float up into the stratosphere like a helium balloon.
She's looking at him like he's some kind of creeper that can't stop staring, and who clearly doesn't fit into her world.
“How do you know my name?” His head is buzzing, trying to connect too many dots. “Did you find her? Mary Winchester, my Mom? Is that how you know my name?”
She eyes him warily. “You're coming with me.”
There's no point in arguing out here in the middle of nowhere. With his hands raised in the air, Sam walks towards her, while she tracks his every move with the barrel of the gun, his mind racing with more questions that she clearly doesn't want to answer.
He coughs at the dust that pushes itself down his throat, and fills his eyes with grit. He can hear her footsteps behind him as she guides him towards the only landmark he can see on the horizon; a shack, that looks like it's barely standing. This place is so barren; empty other than the dirt under his boots and the stormy skies filled with thunder and lightning.
She presses the barrel of the gun into the small of his back every now and then; maybe to remind him that she's still in charge, that she's the one with the gun and the power, and he's just a pawn to her. Nothing more, nothing less.
The shack is bigger than Sam originally thought and from this angle he can see a smaller building tucked behind; some kind of outhouse, he assumes. They're both in poor repair; wooden slat walls are stripped of paint and any kind of colour, just like the rest of this world, and the sheets of corrugated metal that cover the roofs seem to jostle and groan with the wind, like they're clinging on for dear life.
He sees it just in time; a thin copper wire poking out of the dirt. A booby trap, Sam figures. The shack needs some kind of a warning and protection system; it's a beacon for anything that sees it.
Jess doesn't offer any kind of warning, so Sam steps carefully over the wire and throws Jess a questioning look over his shoulder. She shrugs, clearly not impressed that he found it, and jabs the barrel of her gun into his kidney. He stumbles forward towards the shack.
“It ain't locked.” There's a hint of impatience in her voice as Sam pushes open the door, rusty hinges screeching like banshees, and splinters sinking into his soft flesh.
It's dark inside, and it takes a while for Sam's eyes to adjust. The room is pretty bare; a table, two chairs, a cabinet, some kind of gas stove tucked into the corner with a stack of cans of food next it. There's a smaller room in the back, maybe a bedroom, Sam guesses.
Jess gestures at the chair, and Sam sinks down, not realising how tired he actually is until he's sitting. He places his hands flat on the table as he has nothing to hide, and nothing to gain in attacking her. He's not even sure if he could do that anyway, and isn't interested in finding out.
“Don't try anything.” She warns as she rests the gun against the wall, and pulls out a small key that's attached to a silver necklace that's hidden underneath her shirt. She opens the cabinet and it's full of boxes of ammo, a few weapons, and what looks like an old transistor radio. She picks it up and walks towards the table.
“This is 1-26. I got a visitor. I repeat. This is 1-26 and I've got a visitor.”
Her eyes are pinned on him like she's afraid he's going to try something. Sam tries a small smile, he's not sure why, maybe to reassure her that he isn't a threat. It doesn't get any kind of reaction.
“This is 8-12, I hear you loud and clear 1-26. Is it who we expected?” The voice is male, and familiar, but it's hard to pin down over all the static.
“Sure is. Exactly how you described.”
“You alone 1-26? We need to talk in private.”
“Bobby?!” Sam stands up, his chair scraping loudly across the floor. This is what he hoped. That when he finally got back here, he'd reconnect with the Bobby from this world, and then maybe somehow convince him to find his Mom. It was a long shot, but hey, his luck doesn't always have to be crappy, does it?
Jess drops the radio, pulls his gun from her waistband, her finger hovering over the trigger. “Don't move! I'm itching for my 200th kill, so don't tempt me.”
Sam holds up his hands, and slowly sinks back into his chair. “I'm sorry. I just, I met Bobby when I first came here and I was hoping he could help me. Look, my Mom, Mary Winchester, she's somewhere on this world and she doesn't belong here. All I want is to find her and take her home.”
Jess lowers the gun, picks up the radio, and heads towards the other room before turning to face him. “Here's how it is. You're in the middle of nowhere with no form of transportation, so if you wanna run, be my guest. It'll only take a few days and you'll either end up back here, or you'll die out there. So sit and wait, or run. The choice is yours.”
She spins around and slams the door closed, the whole shack shaking with the force. He can hear the fizz of static and a low murmur of her words, but he can't tell what they're talking about.
So Jess knows Bobby in this world, and she seems to listen to him. Maybe they work together in some kind of alliance against the demons and angels? Maybe they're watching for more fissures into this world and new visitors? Maybe they know where Mary is? Do they know about Lucifer too?
Sam pinches the bridge the nose. The problem is he doesn't know anything, not for sure anyway; and Jess is right, he can't risk leaving here. He's stuck where he is until he can at least find out what Jess knows.
His head is pounding, and his tongue is fat and dry, sticking uncomfortably to the roof of his mouth. He really needs a drink, but there's no running water here, not that he can see anyway, and there's no way he's getting out of this chair to take a look when Jess has a gun that she's desperate to fire.
Sam's still running through all his options and trying to figure out some kind of plan when Jess strolls back into the room. She isn't carrying the radio, but a silver flask. It's battle-scarred and engraved but he can't read what it says. There's something about the way she's holding it that tells Sam that it's important to her. Jess's gaze doesn't leave him as she collects two glass tumblers, and pours a shot of a murky amber liquid into each one.
She pulls up a chair, sits next to him at the table, and pushes a glass towards him. She waits until he picks it up before lifting her glass to her lips and downing it.
Sam follows suit, knocking the liquid back with a splutter as it burns its way down his throat and sits like a pool of acid in his empty stomach.
Jess snorts. “Good stuff, huh? Bobby brews it himself.”
She pours herself another shot, and Sam pushes his empty glass towards her. She tops up his glass and then looks him in the eye, her gaze piercing so easily through his armour.
“Who am I to you?”
Sam probably should have seen this coming, but he didn't, and he doesn't know what to say. Somehow the words In my world I loved you and you loved me, and we were going to have a life together, but I lied to you about who I am and what my family does, and you paid the ultimate price for it don't seem enough, or fair to her, let alone to his Jess.
“That complicated, huh?” Her eyes fall to her glass as she knocks it back, swiping her hand across her lips.
Sam nods, dropping his chin so she can't see the stinging tears that cling stubbornly to his eyelashes.
There's a white band of skin around her wedding finger, and her fingers are playing with it, tracing the ghost of a gold band that it isn't there any more. Sam watches it for a long time, imagining a different Jess, with the same gold ring.
She looks like she's going to say something, but she shakes her head and sniffs, pulling the scarf tighter around the scar on her neck. When she lifts her head, all the emotion is gone, and it's like it was never there in the first place. She stands up abruptly, grabs her gun, and pulls Sam's weapon from her waistband and tosses it towards him.
He catches it, and meets her gaze.
“I spoke with Bobby and I can get you to Mary, but it's not gonna be easy.” She juts her head towards him. “Can you handle yourself in a fight, Winchester?”
Sam can't stop the smile on his face. He ejects the magazine, checks that the angel and demon killing bullets that Jack gave them are still loaded, and slams it closed with the heal of palm. He runs his fingers over the pearl handle of the gun that Dean loaned him, and made him promise to bring back. The meaning behind that didn't need to be spoken. “I was born to fight; it's in my blood.”
Jess nods, hauls out an old duffel bag from under the cabinet, and starts to fill it with tins of food, ammo and a variety of weapons.
This isn't the Jess that Sam knows. She looks like her, but that's where the resemblance starts and ends. There's a ghost of a girl he used to know sitting on her shoulders that only he can see, and only he can exorcise, and he will, in time.
It kinda sneaks up on him how much he wants to get to know this Jess. He wants to hear her story and her secrets, wants to know how she got the scar, who gave her that ring, and who owned that silver flask. He wants to fight alongside her; as comrades; as allies. And after that? Well, who knows. At the very least, maybe it'll be good to just know that there's another Jess out there who he didn't fail.
“Let's hit the road, Sam. We've got work to do.”
She's smiling at him, wide and easy, a twinkle of mischief and trouble in her eyes, and it's like nothing he's ever seen before. This is a new journey, and he's more than ready for it.
The End