Fic: No Ordinary Life for mymuseandi
Type of Submission: Fiction.
Title: No Ordinary Life.
Author: odysseaia
Recipient: mymuseandi
Rating: 14+
Warnings: Violence, though not graphic. A bit of foul language. Season 5 spoilers.
Author's Notes #01: This story wouldn't have seen the light of day if it hadn't been for my lovely betas, ariadnes_string and kasman. These ladies stepped in gracefully and helped me whip this into a readable shape and I'm convinced they saved me from eternal embarrassment. Thank you so, so much. You're awesome.
Author's Notes #02: This story takes the Supernatual comic-canon into account which introduces the following concepts. No further knowledge of the comics apart from the notes listed behind the cut is required for this story.
-- Spoilers for Rising Son! --
Rising Son: When a demon tries to take seven year old Sam from his family and drops numerous hints along the way, John gets suspicious. He goes to Bobby for help, who sends John and the boys to Silas, a "soothsayer". Silas warns John that he and his other son, the one like John, need to be ready for what's to come. In reaction, John begins training eleven year old Dean as a hunter in earnest, while Silas agrees to go into trance to find out more about what makes Sam different. John and Dean leave in order to give Silas and Sam the space they need, but by the time they come back, they find an oblivious Sam sitting outside, and John finds Silas's mangled body inside, lying in a pool of blood. John grabs the boys and runs but it's too late. Before going into a trance Silas had told a hunter called Anderson that "someone would soon walk among us. A leader destined to raise an army of darkness against this world." Anderson, who saw Sam sitting outside while Silas's body was rotting inside, connects the dots and comes to the conclusion that Sam is evil. In order to kill Sam, Anderson collects a group of like-minded hunters and starts hunting John and his boys, culminating in a show-down where little Sam is hidden somewhere safe and Dean is forced to kill a fellow hunter in order to protect Sam.
Later on John goes on a bloody rampage, hunting down and killing every hunter who believes Sam to be an instrument of evil, thus hoping to protect his family. Silas's warning is forgotten among hunters and both Sam and Dean grow up oblivious of it, which brings us to the status quo.
More detailed information can be found here at [Rising Son info @ SPN-Wiki]
Summary: Sam is busy playing "ordinary student" when a hunter who has heard rumours of Sam being evil, decides to seize the opportunity that Sam is no longer protected by John. He leaves for Stanford and tries to kill Sam - which turns out to be a bit more difficult than anticipated. Includes guest-appearances by Dean and demon!Brady.
~ No Ordinary Life ~
It was day two of the stake-out and Matt Draper was fighting drowsiness. He'd been sitting in the car almost all afternoon staring at Stanford's most unremarkable public library, just a couple of streets away from the campus. Ever so slowly the afternoon had passed, but that meant no respite for Draper. The sun went down and the early evening, too, passed uneventfully. The few people who found their way to the little library thinned down considerably and by the time the old streetlamps were lit, Draper found the place almost completely deserted.
And all that time, Matt had been sitting in the car, a tiny French import that smelled of sweat and stale beer, for hours, and slowly but surely the back seat was vanishing beneath a pile of candy wrappers, empty coke and beer cans as well as dirty paper cups, that once held impressive amounts of highly sweetened Starbucks coffee.
Matt sighed and fidgeted in his seat in a vain attempt to increase circulation in his behind, which had fallen asleep during the past hours of sitting and staring and munching on sweets that were doing very bad things to his health. He'd thought he'd known what he signed up for - a simple job with good pay, very little risk and even less effort. Little had he known that sitting in front of the damn library and trailing that nerdy boy was going to be so utterly annoying. He shifted his position and feeling returned to his behind, which went from numb to feeling like a pin-cushion. The plan be damned, Matt decided, he was going to make the brat pay for this discomfort. Not to mention the indignity of being forced to pee into the very paper cups he'd been drinking coffee from before (which added its own special flavor to the already rich aroma in the car).
Matt grimaced, then reached for his mobile phone and punched in his partner's number. His partner was in a similarly pleasant situation, waiting in another tiny car just around the corner. The boy had no chance of escape. The moment he left the library, he was bound to run right into either Matt or his partner. And then there would be hell to pay. Matt smiled in anticipation. He was a bruiser, good in a bar fight, close up and dirty - not some damn private detective from a black-and-white movie. He needed the feeling of drawing blood, of bones giving way beneath his knuckles.
Matt was so lost in his thoughts that he almost missed his prey. Mobile phone at ready, Matt hit the "call" button and waited for it to ring twice before hanging up again. Almost immediately, the phone vibrated in his hand, signaling an incoming call. It vibrated once. And twice. Matt smiled. This was the sign to follow the boy into the alley. Evidently his partner was fed up with trailing the boy quietly as well.
Still wearing that anticipatory smile, Matt got out of the car just as the boy passed him. They were close enough to touch, if one of them had reached out, and for a moment it took all of Matt's concentration to keep himself from starting the fight on his own. But his partner, fine - his boss - had been adamant about this. They were not to confront the boy without backup which, in Draper's opinion, was completely ridiculous. Especially close up, the boy looked laughably harmless. Barely out of his teens, with long arms and legs and all the grace of an overgrown puppy that had yet to learn how to use its too-big limbs properly. The boy adjusted his backpack on his shoulder and went into the alley. Matt smiled and picked up the crowbar. And followed the boy.
~*~
Ken Anderson arrived barely five minutes later. A quick glance told him that Matt, incompetent idiot that he was, had ignored his orders and followed the boy on his own. Anderson swore under his breath and checked his weapons. Of all the things life could offer him, he really wouldn't have chosen to follow any person trained by John Winchester. He'd seen Winchester in action, a legend unto himself, even among hunters. Cussing once again for good measure, Anderson checked his weapons one more time and stepped into the alley.
It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light, but even without their help, his hunter's instincts told him that his prey had escaped. He listened intently and made a quick check of the alley and indeed, he was alone. Almost. There was a heap leaning against the bottom of a wall. Matt Draper.
Not even bothering to suppress an expression of disgust, Anderson approached the body. Anderson had just decided that John had taught his boy well, when Draper moaned. The hunter froze in mid-move. The boy hadn't killed his opponent? He blinked in surprise as Draper fixed his unsteady gaze on him.
"Mr. Anderson?" Draper groaned. "The boy...he..."
"I know." Anderson replied, suddenly annoyed. "He didn't finish the job."
Draper's eyes went wide and his jaw dropped in surprise as Anderson pointed the gun at him. "B-But.."
"I don't have time for this." Anderson said and fired, then watched impassively as life slowly drained out of his erstwhile partner. From now on, he was going to hunt alone. And he was going up against the one prey that had always eluded him, starting years ago when John Winchester had stood between them. Now, however, the boy had left the safety of his family's presence to chase the illusion of normalcy. A decision that was going to prove fatal, if Anderson had anything to say about it.
"Sam Winchester," he whispered, "I'm coming for you."
~*~
Sam came to a halt several blocks away from the alley, landing in another narrow alley that looked almost the same as the one he'd just fled from. Overflowing garbage bins lined the walls and the stink indicated that it had been a long time since someone had last bothered to clean up. The houses on both sides seemed abandoned, with most of the windows barred by wooden boards and the doors rusted, many of them broken in. It seemed as if this street was inhabited by no one but rats. It was too shabby even for the homeless. Sam sighed and forced his mind back to the matter hand. He hadn't been running, merely walking at a brisk pace, so his breathing remained normal. He wasn't quite sure what shook him more: the fact that he'd defended himself so easily or that his attacker had been human. Back then, in the life Sam was determined to leave behind, he had been used to getting attacked by all sorts of nightmarish creatures - but humans? That was surprising. And unsettling.
Sam frowned thoughtfully and pulled the man's wallet out of his jacket. Truth be told, Sam had been astonished to find that his would-be mugger brought the wallet to the attack in the first place, which indicated either that the man was extremely stupid or that this had been a spontaneous maneuver. Quite possibly both.
Sam flipped through the compartments, looking for a driver's license - anything to give him a clue about his attacker's identity. And indeed, a moment later he found it: Matthew Draper, aged thirty-six, obliged to wear glasses while driving. The frown on Sam's forehead deepened and he closed the wallet with a snapping sound. Why the hell would Matt Draper, slightly overweight nobody, attack Sam Winchester, unremarkable college student? Merely a coincidence of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? A nagging voice in the back of his head insisted that luck hadn't had a hand in this. Sam had seen the car filled with candy-wrappers and cans. Hell, he'd noticed he was being followed (very sloppily, too) yesterday.
Almost as an afterthought Sam took out Draper's driver's license and threw the wallet, money and all, into the nearest garbage bin, before hoisting his backpack more firmly onto his shoulder (the damn thing had turned out to be a serious impediment in the fight and eventual flight) and set off again. Evidently, hiding from the facts wasn't an option any longer. He was being followed and he had serious doubts that a douche like Draper had come up with the initial idea. The stunned expression on the man's face when Sam fought back had been eloquent enough.
Sam huffed indignantly. Talk about bad timing. He had a big exam coming the day after tomorrow, so he had planned to dedicate tonight's all-nighter to studying, not evading whoever was hunting him. So he had to face the problem and-
The silence of the evening was abruptly interrupted by the sound of Kirk Hammett's guitar blaring out of Sam's mobile phone.
Sam gave a violent start, cursing himself for forgetting to turn off the volume. Rookie mistake.
"Yes." He snapped into the receiver, keeping his voice as quiet as possible - but to no avail, as his caller seemingly had no concept of moderation.
"Sammy! Dude!"
Sam winced at the volume. If he hadn't known any better, he would have sworn it was loud enough to provoke an echo. "Keep it down, Brady. I'm busy."
"Yeah, busy getting your ass over here, Sam. The party's going to be really wild," Brady announced cheerfully, not even remotely more quiet. Sam sighed and shielded the phone with his hands in hopes of keeping the volume down. That was just what he needed: a mad killer on his trail and Brady and his new-found personality blurting out his position. Of course, Sam had learned from painful experience that Brady, even if you hung up on him, was bound to insist on calling and calling, again and again until he'd gotten his message across. For a second Sam wondered who was worse, his friend Brady or the nameless killer.
"Brady, I'll call you back. I promise."
But no such luck. Brady was evidently in a talkative mood.
"Man, there's this girl you gotta meet. Long blond hair and legs...!"
Sam rolled his eyes. Another one of those changes in his friend. Before, Brady had never been quite so crass in his descriptions (or perception) of women and it was starting to bother Sam. In fact-
There was a hiss of hot air right next to his cheek. Brady prattled on but Sam didn't listen, too distracted by the tiny, sharp bits of wall that hit his face. Instinctively he hit the ground - just in time, as it turned out, as two more bullets hit the wall, just where he'd stood a mere second ago. The son of a bitch was using a silencer! Sam looked around for cover but naturally, with his bad luck, there was none. He was surrounded by abandoned warehouses that didn't offer the slightest hint of a cover. Brady prattled on, and a remote part of Sam's brain realized that he was still clutching the mobile phone in his hand.
"Later." Sam snapped, and miraculously, Brady fell silent.
"Sa-?" Brady asked but was cut off abruptly as a bullet hit the phone. A jolt of sheer adrenaline flooded Sam's body and he stopped thinking. He dropped both the ruined mobile phone and his bag and ran, keeping close to the wall.
Bullets hit the ground and walls close to him and it was mere luck that no ricochet hit him. And that's when his luck ran out. Something ripped right through his sleeve. He could see a spray of blood following the bullet which embedded itself in a wall. Yet for now the adrenaline kept him from feeling any pain. Still, it was only a matter of time until his eerily silent opponent hit him. Fear and confusion were replaced with anger and, despite knowing it might slow him down, Sam headed toward the closest garbage bin. He narrowly evaded being hit again and grabbed the garbage bin while rats were fleeing in all directions, suddenly finding themselves robbed of their home. A bullet hit a rat and a part of Sam's mind, the part that hadn't been too busy pouting while his dad attempted to train him as a hunter, started wondering how many bullets the other man had left.
Sam whirled around, hiding his body behind the garbage bin, then gave the thing a mighty shove and rolled it at his opponent. He stumbled back. The garbage bin had been heavy, but Sam immediately pushed himself back up, ignoring the cuts and scrapes on his hands. Finally, belatedly, Sam took a closer look at his surroundings, hoping to use them to his advantage, but things didn't look good. The alley was long and narrow, a few fire-escapes on the sides of the buildings and merely a couple of overflowing garbage bins lined up on the sides. Sam reached for the closest one and, ignoring its smelly contents that fell on him, rolled it into the alley. It made one hell of a racket and Sam allowed himself a smile when he heard the bin smacking into flesh. It kept his follower too busy evading obstacles to fire bullets at Sam. Still, there was no time to spare and Sam picked up speed. His lungs were burning and he deeply regretted that in his eagerness to adapt to a normal life, he'd neglected to keep in the same shape as he'd been forced to maintain before. If he lived through this, Sam decided, he'd do some serious training. Until then, however, he ignored the stinging pain in his side, and the burning muscles in his legs and pushed his body forward.
He knew very well that running away wasn't an option. The killed had found him once, so even if Sam managed to escape this time - which was debatable - there was no telling when the killer would be waiting for him again. At least now there were no innocent bystanders. There were no witnesses either. He could use all this knowledge to his advantage without being forced to deal with embarrassing questions afterwards. A small, hard smile tugged at the corners of Sam's lips. It was time to stop reacting and fight back.
Naturally, this was a lot easier thought than done, considering that the lack of noise indicated that his attacker had successfully disentangled himself from the garbage bin. With nothing more than a silent hiss, a bullet streaked past Sam, missing his cheek by a hair's breadth. There was no more time to cuss. He had to get out of the line of fire and even the odds. His sides hurt from the sprint and Sam knew that he couldn't keep this pace up for much longer. There was no place to hide. No weapons lying around conveniently. No...
"Damn it!"
A bullet streaked past his face, way too close for comfort. Sam's body jerked aside. He lost his footing, tripped over something and went down hard. A bullet tore through the air exactly where his back had been a second ago. Despite the adrenaline rush, Sam felt his mouth go dry with fear. Too damn close.
He rolled aside and pressed himself against the wall when something suddenly gave away. He fell backwards, realizing belatedly that he must have been leaning against a rackety little pile of cardboard boxes and thin wooden boards. A self-made shelter, probably abandoned by its homeless owner.
Again Sam didn't allow himself any time to think. He groped around on the ground, desperate to find something to defend himself with as a plan slowly formed in his mind. Use your surroundings to your advantage. Sam planned to do that. Literally.
His hands closed around a board and he had barely time to allow himself a triumphant smile when his attacker, pushed forward by his own celerity, came up to Sam's spontaneous hideaway. Sam crawled into position, then waited, barely daring to breathe.
Three...two...one...the attacker's speed carried him right up to Sam's level. Now! He swung the board right against the man's legs, making him fall. He heard the clatter of metal on the ground. The gun had fallen.
Immediately Sam stood up and went into a direct fight, now that the odds were evened out. For the greater part of his life, Sam had been tiny, perpetually weaker than his opponent. Forced to find a compensation for this disadvantage, he'd been trained to be fast. Tonight it was this quickness that saved his life.
The flash of light on the knife's edge caught his eye, giving him just enough advance warning to move out of the way. The knife clattered to the ground. Sam saw his chance and before the man had a chance to grab his weapon, Sam pushed them both away. Up close like this, the fight quickly got dirty. Jabs and kicks and hits were exchanged at a breakneck speed, neither opponent escaping unharmed. A knee landed in Sam's solarplexus, knocking the wind out of him even as his elbow connected with his adversary's shoulder. Sam knew he wasn't going to last long against this man. He was out of shape and the man evidently knew what he was doing.
Sam landed a punch to the man's chin, bruising his hand. There was a sharp sound as the attacker's teeth clacked together and a muffled moan. Blood trickled down on Sam and he suspected the man had bitten his tongue. This was his chance to get out of the fight and get to the knife! Using a couple of dirtier tricks, Sam yanked the man's hair back, delivered another kick and scrambled backwards, groping for the knife which was still lying on the ground. He heard the man's moans, sounding more infuriated than hurt. It sent a shiver of fear down his spine. He groped around more frantically until there was a sudden sharp pain in his hand - he'd found the knife's edge. Ignoring the sounds coming from his opponent, Sam grabbed the knife and turned around triumphantly.
Only to freeze in his tracks. He was looking right into the barrel of a gun.
The second it took Sam's mind to take in the situation stretched into infinity. He saw everything with almost painful sharpness. The flickering light of the broken streetlamp painting grotesque shadows onto the ground. The gun, meticulously cleaned except for the scrapes and dust it acquired during the fight. The knife in his hand, now completely useless. And his opponent.
Long, white hair framed the man's haggard face. His lips were smeared with blood, its bright red standing out in sharp contrast to the man's extremely pale skin. Dirt clung to his face, emphasizing the hollow of his cheeks and making him look very much like a walking corpse. And above all of that, his eyes. Maroon irises framed by flames of pale blue and red, alight with insanity.
Sam felt the blood drain from his face. He swallowed against the lump in his throat. It felt as if his Adam's apple scratched against sandpaper.
"Who the hell are you?"
The man chuckled, a disturbingly high and childish sound. "I'm the man who is going to kill you."
"Thank you. I gathered that much on my own," Sam said dryly. He realized very distantly that shock was making him act like Dean, sprouting flippant answers and laughing into the face of danger. Dean. He was never going to see Dean again. Somehow that thought scared him more than imminent death. Sam felt his temper, usually so very well controlled, flare at the thought.
"What's wrong with you, anyway? I'm just an ordinary college student."
"If you were ordinary in any way, you would have been dead half an hour ago." The man chuckled again and shook his head. "But you're not ordinary, are you?"
Sam raised an eyebrow, still channeling Dean's attitude.
"Oh, I know what you think." The man smiled unpleasantly, the gun still aimed at Sam's face. If there was a means of escape there, then Sam didn't see it.
"You think that I look like a freak, don't you, boy? But only evil needs to wear a pretty mask. "
Sam remained quiet, somehow more disturbed by the man's words than by the fact that the man held him at gunpoint. Right now Sam would have preferred a good old-fashioned poltergeist. Those made sense, at least.
"I see you don't understand. My name is Ken Anderson. Will Anderson was my brother. We share the same genetic disposition, albinism. That is, we did - until your father murdered him." He paused and gave Sam another nasty smile. With the drying blood smeared around his lips it looked more like he was baring his teeth. Sam had seen werewolves, about to rip their victim's throat out, look more friendly. "And all of this for an ungrateful, back-stabbing brat who abandoned his family at the first opportunity."
The lump was back in Sam's throat. He knew he'd let his temper get the better of him on numerous occasions. Hell, he even knew that there had been times he'd all but goaded his father into a fight, with Dean being caught between them.
"You signed your death warrant, the very moment you left for Stanford. A normal life?" Anderson spat out some blood. "You don't deserve normal." He grinned insanely. "And now I'm going to rid the world of evil."
Sam's muscles tensed. He held his breath - and threw a fistful of gravel into Anderson's eyes. Sam squeezed his eyes shut and dropped to the ground. There was a gunshot. Something warm and wet was on Sam's face - but no pain.
Sam blinked in confusion, ears still ringing with the sound of the gunshot. As far as he could tell, he was still alive. His fingertips brushed his forehead and came back covered in blood and something he didn't care to identify any further. Looking up from his bloody hands, Sam's uncomprehending gaze settled on Anderson, lying in a pool of his own blood, moaning quietly as life drained from him.
With a gasp, Sam was shocked right back into action. He scrambled back until his back hit the wall, blood-matted hair clinging to his forehead. He had bits of Anderson on him and that realization made Sam gag violently. He pressed a hand to his mouth, heedless of the fact that he smeared his face with Anderson's blood, and forced himself to peer into the dark alley. There was nothing he could see and for once Sam didn't care to linger and investigate. He pocketed both the knife and the gun, and with a final look into the alley, he took off at a run, only stopping to empty the contents of his stomach into the gutter.
~*~
The sound of Sam's footsteps had barely faded when a figure stepped out of the shadows, the gun it held in its hands, still smoking from the shot fired mere minutes ago. It gave Anderson a look of disgust, then - with evident reluctance - crouched down next to him.
"H-help...m..."
"Shhshhh..." The figure said soothingly and held a finger to its lips. "It's going to be fine, dude. Relax."
Anderson nodded weakly. "Hos..hosp.."
"Oh no, you won't be needing a hospital, my friend." The figure leaned forward and the streetlamp's light hit the knife it held in its hand. Anderson's eyes widened in panic and then there was nothing but a gurgling sound as Brady cut the hunter's throat. He caught the blood in a goblet with practiced ease and just as easily spoke the incantation.
"Hey, boss," Brady said, stepping away from the corpse. "Looks like our golden boy got himself into a spot of trouble."
He waited, listening to the response, then nodded.
"Oh, come on, boss! How could I have known he'd get himself into trouble in a library? I mean...really."
He stopped again and winced before going on in a subdued voice.
"Yes. Yes, I understand. I will introduce him to the girl right away. Her death should get him back onto the right track. I'm on it."
The blood in the goblet stopped boiling and the tension left Brady's shoulders. He nudged the body with the tip of his shoe and sighed.
"You better be worth all the trouble, boy king," he mumbled, then got to work. There was a body to dispose of.
~*~
It was early afternoon the next day and Sam was back in the library. Attacks or no attacks, he still had exams to pass and those required preparation. He'd been catching up as best as he could, ignoring Brady's insistent calls on his new cell phone, as well as the masses of cuts and bruises he'd acquired the previous night. He wanted to make himself believe that Anderson had been nothing but a madman, but Sam was left to wonder. What hadn't his Dad told him? Were there more hunters out there convinced Sam was evil? And why?
Thoughts swirled in his head, combining into one confusing mass of images and questions. Sam felt his head tilt forward until it came to rest on his forearms, shaggy bangs covering his face. The warmth of the afternoon sun was making him drowsy, and before he knew it, Sam was fast asleep, surrounded by piles of books and markers and multi-colored post-its sticking to every imaginable surface.
~*~
Sam was still like that when Dean found him. In an unspoken agreement with their father, who would be "asleep" at such moments, Dean had been sneaking out and taking the Impala for a little joyride whenever he and John happened to be close to Palo Alto. Coincidentally, that seemed to be the case at pretty regular intervals, which allowed Dean to check up on his little brother at his leisure.
Initially, Dean had planned to approach Sam directly this time, but his baby brother looked positively exhausted today. He hoped for Sam's sake it was due to insane numbers of campus parties involving scantily-clad ladies, but knowing Sam, Dean had his doubts about that.
He strolled over to Sam and looked down on his snoring brother, wearing a tender smile that he would never allow Sam to witness.
"You nerd," Dean said softly, shaking his head. Falling asleep in the library was such a 'Sam' thing to do. And yet, despite the pain of not having Sam around, Dean was reassured to see Sam living the life he'd always wished for.
Normal. And safe.
Reassured that everything was fine, Dean turned around and slipped out of the library. Until the next time.
~*~
THE END
Title: No Ordinary Life.
Author: odysseaia
Recipient: mymuseandi
Rating: 14+
Warnings: Violence, though not graphic. A bit of foul language. Season 5 spoilers.
Author's Notes #01: This story wouldn't have seen the light of day if it hadn't been for my lovely betas, ariadnes_string and kasman. These ladies stepped in gracefully and helped me whip this into a readable shape and I'm convinced they saved me from eternal embarrassment. Thank you so, so much. You're awesome.
Author's Notes #02: This story takes the Supernatual comic-canon into account which introduces the following concepts. No further knowledge of the comics apart from the notes listed behind the cut is required for this story.
-- Spoilers for Rising Son! --
Rising Son: When a demon tries to take seven year old Sam from his family and drops numerous hints along the way, John gets suspicious. He goes to Bobby for help, who sends John and the boys to Silas, a "soothsayer". Silas warns John that he and his other son, the one like John, need to be ready for what's to come. In reaction, John begins training eleven year old Dean as a hunter in earnest, while Silas agrees to go into trance to find out more about what makes Sam different. John and Dean leave in order to give Silas and Sam the space they need, but by the time they come back, they find an oblivious Sam sitting outside, and John finds Silas's mangled body inside, lying in a pool of blood. John grabs the boys and runs but it's too late. Before going into a trance Silas had told a hunter called Anderson that "someone would soon walk among us. A leader destined to raise an army of darkness against this world." Anderson, who saw Sam sitting outside while Silas's body was rotting inside, connects the dots and comes to the conclusion that Sam is evil. In order to kill Sam, Anderson collects a group of like-minded hunters and starts hunting John and his boys, culminating in a show-down where little Sam is hidden somewhere safe and Dean is forced to kill a fellow hunter in order to protect Sam.
Later on John goes on a bloody rampage, hunting down and killing every hunter who believes Sam to be an instrument of evil, thus hoping to protect his family. Silas's warning is forgotten among hunters and both Sam and Dean grow up oblivious of it, which brings us to the status quo.
More detailed information can be found here at [Rising Son info @ SPN-Wiki]
Summary: Sam is busy playing "ordinary student" when a hunter who has heard rumours of Sam being evil, decides to seize the opportunity that Sam is no longer protected by John. He leaves for Stanford and tries to kill Sam - which turns out to be a bit more difficult than anticipated. Includes guest-appearances by Dean and demon!Brady.
~ No Ordinary Life ~
It was day two of the stake-out and Matt Draper was fighting drowsiness. He'd been sitting in the car almost all afternoon staring at Stanford's most unremarkable public library, just a couple of streets away from the campus. Ever so slowly the afternoon had passed, but that meant no respite for Draper. The sun went down and the early evening, too, passed uneventfully. The few people who found their way to the little library thinned down considerably and by the time the old streetlamps were lit, Draper found the place almost completely deserted.
And all that time, Matt had been sitting in the car, a tiny French import that smelled of sweat and stale beer, for hours, and slowly but surely the back seat was vanishing beneath a pile of candy wrappers, empty coke and beer cans as well as dirty paper cups, that once held impressive amounts of highly sweetened Starbucks coffee.
Matt sighed and fidgeted in his seat in a vain attempt to increase circulation in his behind, which had fallen asleep during the past hours of sitting and staring and munching on sweets that were doing very bad things to his health. He'd thought he'd known what he signed up for - a simple job with good pay, very little risk and even less effort. Little had he known that sitting in front of the damn library and trailing that nerdy boy was going to be so utterly annoying. He shifted his position and feeling returned to his behind, which went from numb to feeling like a pin-cushion. The plan be damned, Matt decided, he was going to make the brat pay for this discomfort. Not to mention the indignity of being forced to pee into the very paper cups he'd been drinking coffee from before (which added its own special flavor to the already rich aroma in the car).
Matt grimaced, then reached for his mobile phone and punched in his partner's number. His partner was in a similarly pleasant situation, waiting in another tiny car just around the corner. The boy had no chance of escape. The moment he left the library, he was bound to run right into either Matt or his partner. And then there would be hell to pay. Matt smiled in anticipation. He was a bruiser, good in a bar fight, close up and dirty - not some damn private detective from a black-and-white movie. He needed the feeling of drawing blood, of bones giving way beneath his knuckles.
Matt was so lost in his thoughts that he almost missed his prey. Mobile phone at ready, Matt hit the "call" button and waited for it to ring twice before hanging up again. Almost immediately, the phone vibrated in his hand, signaling an incoming call. It vibrated once. And twice. Matt smiled. This was the sign to follow the boy into the alley. Evidently his partner was fed up with trailing the boy quietly as well.
Still wearing that anticipatory smile, Matt got out of the car just as the boy passed him. They were close enough to touch, if one of them had reached out, and for a moment it took all of Matt's concentration to keep himself from starting the fight on his own. But his partner, fine - his boss - had been adamant about this. They were not to confront the boy without backup which, in Draper's opinion, was completely ridiculous. Especially close up, the boy looked laughably harmless. Barely out of his teens, with long arms and legs and all the grace of an overgrown puppy that had yet to learn how to use its too-big limbs properly. The boy adjusted his backpack on his shoulder and went into the alley. Matt smiled and picked up the crowbar. And followed the boy.
~*~
Ken Anderson arrived barely five minutes later. A quick glance told him that Matt, incompetent idiot that he was, had ignored his orders and followed the boy on his own. Anderson swore under his breath and checked his weapons. Of all the things life could offer him, he really wouldn't have chosen to follow any person trained by John Winchester. He'd seen Winchester in action, a legend unto himself, even among hunters. Cussing once again for good measure, Anderson checked his weapons one more time and stepped into the alley.
It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light, but even without their help, his hunter's instincts told him that his prey had escaped. He listened intently and made a quick check of the alley and indeed, he was alone. Almost. There was a heap leaning against the bottom of a wall. Matt Draper.
Not even bothering to suppress an expression of disgust, Anderson approached the body. Anderson had just decided that John had taught his boy well, when Draper moaned. The hunter froze in mid-move. The boy hadn't killed his opponent? He blinked in surprise as Draper fixed his unsteady gaze on him.
"Mr. Anderson?" Draper groaned. "The boy...he..."
"I know." Anderson replied, suddenly annoyed. "He didn't finish the job."
Draper's eyes went wide and his jaw dropped in surprise as Anderson pointed the gun at him. "B-But.."
"I don't have time for this." Anderson said and fired, then watched impassively as life slowly drained out of his erstwhile partner. From now on, he was going to hunt alone. And he was going up against the one prey that had always eluded him, starting years ago when John Winchester had stood between them. Now, however, the boy had left the safety of his family's presence to chase the illusion of normalcy. A decision that was going to prove fatal, if Anderson had anything to say about it.
"Sam Winchester," he whispered, "I'm coming for you."
~*~
Sam came to a halt several blocks away from the alley, landing in another narrow alley that looked almost the same as the one he'd just fled from. Overflowing garbage bins lined the walls and the stink indicated that it had been a long time since someone had last bothered to clean up. The houses on both sides seemed abandoned, with most of the windows barred by wooden boards and the doors rusted, many of them broken in. It seemed as if this street was inhabited by no one but rats. It was too shabby even for the homeless. Sam sighed and forced his mind back to the matter hand. He hadn't been running, merely walking at a brisk pace, so his breathing remained normal. He wasn't quite sure what shook him more: the fact that he'd defended himself so easily or that his attacker had been human. Back then, in the life Sam was determined to leave behind, he had been used to getting attacked by all sorts of nightmarish creatures - but humans? That was surprising. And unsettling.
Sam frowned thoughtfully and pulled the man's wallet out of his jacket. Truth be told, Sam had been astonished to find that his would-be mugger brought the wallet to the attack in the first place, which indicated either that the man was extremely stupid or that this had been a spontaneous maneuver. Quite possibly both.
Sam flipped through the compartments, looking for a driver's license - anything to give him a clue about his attacker's identity. And indeed, a moment later he found it: Matthew Draper, aged thirty-six, obliged to wear glasses while driving. The frown on Sam's forehead deepened and he closed the wallet with a snapping sound. Why the hell would Matt Draper, slightly overweight nobody, attack Sam Winchester, unremarkable college student? Merely a coincidence of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? A nagging voice in the back of his head insisted that luck hadn't had a hand in this. Sam had seen the car filled with candy-wrappers and cans. Hell, he'd noticed he was being followed (very sloppily, too) yesterday.
Almost as an afterthought Sam took out Draper's driver's license and threw the wallet, money and all, into the nearest garbage bin, before hoisting his backpack more firmly onto his shoulder (the damn thing had turned out to be a serious impediment in the fight and eventual flight) and set off again. Evidently, hiding from the facts wasn't an option any longer. He was being followed and he had serious doubts that a douche like Draper had come up with the initial idea. The stunned expression on the man's face when Sam fought back had been eloquent enough.
Sam huffed indignantly. Talk about bad timing. He had a big exam coming the day after tomorrow, so he had planned to dedicate tonight's all-nighter to studying, not evading whoever was hunting him. So he had to face the problem and-
The silence of the evening was abruptly interrupted by the sound of Kirk Hammett's guitar blaring out of Sam's mobile phone.
Sam gave a violent start, cursing himself for forgetting to turn off the volume. Rookie mistake.
"Yes." He snapped into the receiver, keeping his voice as quiet as possible - but to no avail, as his caller seemingly had no concept of moderation.
"Sammy! Dude!"
Sam winced at the volume. If he hadn't known any better, he would have sworn it was loud enough to provoke an echo. "Keep it down, Brady. I'm busy."
"Yeah, busy getting your ass over here, Sam. The party's going to be really wild," Brady announced cheerfully, not even remotely more quiet. Sam sighed and shielded the phone with his hands in hopes of keeping the volume down. That was just what he needed: a mad killer on his trail and Brady and his new-found personality blurting out his position. Of course, Sam had learned from painful experience that Brady, even if you hung up on him, was bound to insist on calling and calling, again and again until he'd gotten his message across. For a second Sam wondered who was worse, his friend Brady or the nameless killer.
"Brady, I'll call you back. I promise."
But no such luck. Brady was evidently in a talkative mood.
"Man, there's this girl you gotta meet. Long blond hair and legs...!"
Sam rolled his eyes. Another one of those changes in his friend. Before, Brady had never been quite so crass in his descriptions (or perception) of women and it was starting to bother Sam. In fact-
There was a hiss of hot air right next to his cheek. Brady prattled on but Sam didn't listen, too distracted by the tiny, sharp bits of wall that hit his face. Instinctively he hit the ground - just in time, as it turned out, as two more bullets hit the wall, just where he'd stood a mere second ago. The son of a bitch was using a silencer! Sam looked around for cover but naturally, with his bad luck, there was none. He was surrounded by abandoned warehouses that didn't offer the slightest hint of a cover. Brady prattled on, and a remote part of Sam's brain realized that he was still clutching the mobile phone in his hand.
"Later." Sam snapped, and miraculously, Brady fell silent.
"Sa-?" Brady asked but was cut off abruptly as a bullet hit the phone. A jolt of sheer adrenaline flooded Sam's body and he stopped thinking. He dropped both the ruined mobile phone and his bag and ran, keeping close to the wall.
Bullets hit the ground and walls close to him and it was mere luck that no ricochet hit him. And that's when his luck ran out. Something ripped right through his sleeve. He could see a spray of blood following the bullet which embedded itself in a wall. Yet for now the adrenaline kept him from feeling any pain. Still, it was only a matter of time until his eerily silent opponent hit him. Fear and confusion were replaced with anger and, despite knowing it might slow him down, Sam headed toward the closest garbage bin. He narrowly evaded being hit again and grabbed the garbage bin while rats were fleeing in all directions, suddenly finding themselves robbed of their home. A bullet hit a rat and a part of Sam's mind, the part that hadn't been too busy pouting while his dad attempted to train him as a hunter, started wondering how many bullets the other man had left.
Sam whirled around, hiding his body behind the garbage bin, then gave the thing a mighty shove and rolled it at his opponent. He stumbled back. The garbage bin had been heavy, but Sam immediately pushed himself back up, ignoring the cuts and scrapes on his hands. Finally, belatedly, Sam took a closer look at his surroundings, hoping to use them to his advantage, but things didn't look good. The alley was long and narrow, a few fire-escapes on the sides of the buildings and merely a couple of overflowing garbage bins lined up on the sides. Sam reached for the closest one and, ignoring its smelly contents that fell on him, rolled it into the alley. It made one hell of a racket and Sam allowed himself a smile when he heard the bin smacking into flesh. It kept his follower too busy evading obstacles to fire bullets at Sam. Still, there was no time to spare and Sam picked up speed. His lungs were burning and he deeply regretted that in his eagerness to adapt to a normal life, he'd neglected to keep in the same shape as he'd been forced to maintain before. If he lived through this, Sam decided, he'd do some serious training. Until then, however, he ignored the stinging pain in his side, and the burning muscles in his legs and pushed his body forward.
He knew very well that running away wasn't an option. The killed had found him once, so even if Sam managed to escape this time - which was debatable - there was no telling when the killer would be waiting for him again. At least now there were no innocent bystanders. There were no witnesses either. He could use all this knowledge to his advantage without being forced to deal with embarrassing questions afterwards. A small, hard smile tugged at the corners of Sam's lips. It was time to stop reacting and fight back.
Naturally, this was a lot easier thought than done, considering that the lack of noise indicated that his attacker had successfully disentangled himself from the garbage bin. With nothing more than a silent hiss, a bullet streaked past Sam, missing his cheek by a hair's breadth. There was no more time to cuss. He had to get out of the line of fire and even the odds. His sides hurt from the sprint and Sam knew that he couldn't keep this pace up for much longer. There was no place to hide. No weapons lying around conveniently. No...
"Damn it!"
A bullet streaked past his face, way too close for comfort. Sam's body jerked aside. He lost his footing, tripped over something and went down hard. A bullet tore through the air exactly where his back had been a second ago. Despite the adrenaline rush, Sam felt his mouth go dry with fear. Too damn close.
He rolled aside and pressed himself against the wall when something suddenly gave away. He fell backwards, realizing belatedly that he must have been leaning against a rackety little pile of cardboard boxes and thin wooden boards. A self-made shelter, probably abandoned by its homeless owner.
Again Sam didn't allow himself any time to think. He groped around on the ground, desperate to find something to defend himself with as a plan slowly formed in his mind. Use your surroundings to your advantage. Sam planned to do that. Literally.
His hands closed around a board and he had barely time to allow himself a triumphant smile when his attacker, pushed forward by his own celerity, came up to Sam's spontaneous hideaway. Sam crawled into position, then waited, barely daring to breathe.
Three...two...one...the attacker's speed carried him right up to Sam's level. Now! He swung the board right against the man's legs, making him fall. He heard the clatter of metal on the ground. The gun had fallen.
Immediately Sam stood up and went into a direct fight, now that the odds were evened out. For the greater part of his life, Sam had been tiny, perpetually weaker than his opponent. Forced to find a compensation for this disadvantage, he'd been trained to be fast. Tonight it was this quickness that saved his life.
The flash of light on the knife's edge caught his eye, giving him just enough advance warning to move out of the way. The knife clattered to the ground. Sam saw his chance and before the man had a chance to grab his weapon, Sam pushed them both away. Up close like this, the fight quickly got dirty. Jabs and kicks and hits were exchanged at a breakneck speed, neither opponent escaping unharmed. A knee landed in Sam's solarplexus, knocking the wind out of him even as his elbow connected with his adversary's shoulder. Sam knew he wasn't going to last long against this man. He was out of shape and the man evidently knew what he was doing.
Sam landed a punch to the man's chin, bruising his hand. There was a sharp sound as the attacker's teeth clacked together and a muffled moan. Blood trickled down on Sam and he suspected the man had bitten his tongue. This was his chance to get out of the fight and get to the knife! Using a couple of dirtier tricks, Sam yanked the man's hair back, delivered another kick and scrambled backwards, groping for the knife which was still lying on the ground. He heard the man's moans, sounding more infuriated than hurt. It sent a shiver of fear down his spine. He groped around more frantically until there was a sudden sharp pain in his hand - he'd found the knife's edge. Ignoring the sounds coming from his opponent, Sam grabbed the knife and turned around triumphantly.
Only to freeze in his tracks. He was looking right into the barrel of a gun.
The second it took Sam's mind to take in the situation stretched into infinity. He saw everything with almost painful sharpness. The flickering light of the broken streetlamp painting grotesque shadows onto the ground. The gun, meticulously cleaned except for the scrapes and dust it acquired during the fight. The knife in his hand, now completely useless. And his opponent.
Long, white hair framed the man's haggard face. His lips were smeared with blood, its bright red standing out in sharp contrast to the man's extremely pale skin. Dirt clung to his face, emphasizing the hollow of his cheeks and making him look very much like a walking corpse. And above all of that, his eyes. Maroon irises framed by flames of pale blue and red, alight with insanity.
Sam felt the blood drain from his face. He swallowed against the lump in his throat. It felt as if his Adam's apple scratched against sandpaper.
"Who the hell are you?"
The man chuckled, a disturbingly high and childish sound. "I'm the man who is going to kill you."
"Thank you. I gathered that much on my own," Sam said dryly. He realized very distantly that shock was making him act like Dean, sprouting flippant answers and laughing into the face of danger. Dean. He was never going to see Dean again. Somehow that thought scared him more than imminent death. Sam felt his temper, usually so very well controlled, flare at the thought.
"What's wrong with you, anyway? I'm just an ordinary college student."
"If you were ordinary in any way, you would have been dead half an hour ago." The man chuckled again and shook his head. "But you're not ordinary, are you?"
Sam raised an eyebrow, still channeling Dean's attitude.
"Oh, I know what you think." The man smiled unpleasantly, the gun still aimed at Sam's face. If there was a means of escape there, then Sam didn't see it.
"You think that I look like a freak, don't you, boy? But only evil needs to wear a pretty mask. "
Sam remained quiet, somehow more disturbed by the man's words than by the fact that the man held him at gunpoint. Right now Sam would have preferred a good old-fashioned poltergeist. Those made sense, at least.
"I see you don't understand. My name is Ken Anderson. Will Anderson was my brother. We share the same genetic disposition, albinism. That is, we did - until your father murdered him." He paused and gave Sam another nasty smile. With the drying blood smeared around his lips it looked more like he was baring his teeth. Sam had seen werewolves, about to rip their victim's throat out, look more friendly. "And all of this for an ungrateful, back-stabbing brat who abandoned his family at the first opportunity."
The lump was back in Sam's throat. He knew he'd let his temper get the better of him on numerous occasions. Hell, he even knew that there had been times he'd all but goaded his father into a fight, with Dean being caught between them.
"You signed your death warrant, the very moment you left for Stanford. A normal life?" Anderson spat out some blood. "You don't deserve normal." He grinned insanely. "And now I'm going to rid the world of evil."
Sam's muscles tensed. He held his breath - and threw a fistful of gravel into Anderson's eyes. Sam squeezed his eyes shut and dropped to the ground. There was a gunshot. Something warm and wet was on Sam's face - but no pain.
Sam blinked in confusion, ears still ringing with the sound of the gunshot. As far as he could tell, he was still alive. His fingertips brushed his forehead and came back covered in blood and something he didn't care to identify any further. Looking up from his bloody hands, Sam's uncomprehending gaze settled on Anderson, lying in a pool of his own blood, moaning quietly as life drained from him.
With a gasp, Sam was shocked right back into action. He scrambled back until his back hit the wall, blood-matted hair clinging to his forehead. He had bits of Anderson on him and that realization made Sam gag violently. He pressed a hand to his mouth, heedless of the fact that he smeared his face with Anderson's blood, and forced himself to peer into the dark alley. There was nothing he could see and for once Sam didn't care to linger and investigate. He pocketed both the knife and the gun, and with a final look into the alley, he took off at a run, only stopping to empty the contents of his stomach into the gutter.
~*~
The sound of Sam's footsteps had barely faded when a figure stepped out of the shadows, the gun it held in its hands, still smoking from the shot fired mere minutes ago. It gave Anderson a look of disgust, then - with evident reluctance - crouched down next to him.
"H-help...m..."
"Shhshhh..." The figure said soothingly and held a finger to its lips. "It's going to be fine, dude. Relax."
Anderson nodded weakly. "Hos..hosp.."
"Oh no, you won't be needing a hospital, my friend." The figure leaned forward and the streetlamp's light hit the knife it held in its hand. Anderson's eyes widened in panic and then there was nothing but a gurgling sound as Brady cut the hunter's throat. He caught the blood in a goblet with practiced ease and just as easily spoke the incantation.
"Hey, boss," Brady said, stepping away from the corpse. "Looks like our golden boy got himself into a spot of trouble."
He waited, listening to the response, then nodded.
"Oh, come on, boss! How could I have known he'd get himself into trouble in a library? I mean...really."
He stopped again and winced before going on in a subdued voice.
"Yes. Yes, I understand. I will introduce him to the girl right away. Her death should get him back onto the right track. I'm on it."
The blood in the goblet stopped boiling and the tension left Brady's shoulders. He nudged the body with the tip of his shoe and sighed.
"You better be worth all the trouble, boy king," he mumbled, then got to work. There was a body to dispose of.
~*~
It was early afternoon the next day and Sam was back in the library. Attacks or no attacks, he still had exams to pass and those required preparation. He'd been catching up as best as he could, ignoring Brady's insistent calls on his new cell phone, as well as the masses of cuts and bruises he'd acquired the previous night. He wanted to make himself believe that Anderson had been nothing but a madman, but Sam was left to wonder. What hadn't his Dad told him? Were there more hunters out there convinced Sam was evil? And why?
Thoughts swirled in his head, combining into one confusing mass of images and questions. Sam felt his head tilt forward until it came to rest on his forearms, shaggy bangs covering his face. The warmth of the afternoon sun was making him drowsy, and before he knew it, Sam was fast asleep, surrounded by piles of books and markers and multi-colored post-its sticking to every imaginable surface.
~*~
Sam was still like that when Dean found him. In an unspoken agreement with their father, who would be "asleep" at such moments, Dean had been sneaking out and taking the Impala for a little joyride whenever he and John happened to be close to Palo Alto. Coincidentally, that seemed to be the case at pretty regular intervals, which allowed Dean to check up on his little brother at his leisure.
Initially, Dean had planned to approach Sam directly this time, but his baby brother looked positively exhausted today. He hoped for Sam's sake it was due to insane numbers of campus parties involving scantily-clad ladies, but knowing Sam, Dean had his doubts about that.
He strolled over to Sam and looked down on his snoring brother, wearing a tender smile that he would never allow Sam to witness.
"You nerd," Dean said softly, shaking his head. Falling asleep in the library was such a 'Sam' thing to do. And yet, despite the pain of not having Sam around, Dean was reassured to see Sam living the life he'd always wished for.
Normal. And safe.
Reassured that everything was fine, Dean turned around and slipped out of the library. Until the next time.
~*~
THE END