Becoming Sam (2/4)
Title: Becoming Sam
Summary: ‘At the door Dean said, “Watch out for Adam, huh, little bro?” And mussed up Sam’s floppy hair.’ Adam’s mother is killed by ghouls when he is young and John takes him in. The family dynamic shifts. For Sam everything changes and nothing does. Pre-series AU.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or anything else that is even vaguely recognisable.
Author’s Note: For the sake of artistic freedom, I have made Adam slightly older than he would have been. He was born in ‘88 instead of ’90. Also, in this universe, Sam has a few visions when he’s younger.
Warnings: Nothing but the occasional swearword. Though if I missed anything, please let me know and I will edit the warnings!
Chapter 2: Nonviolent Resistance
Flagstaff was awesome. Sure, the streets were filthy and the city is mostly industrial, with huge industrial parks lining the outskirts and trucks thundering over the road every few minutes. But for the first time in his life Sam was well and truly without his family. And it was glorious. He had part-time job at the local shop, did errands here and there, and with that money managed to feed himself and squat in a rundown house. It was also in here in Flagstaff that he met the best dog in the entire world; Bones. Bones, because that and skin had been all the dog was when Sam found him.
Sam was lucky to have the job, he knew, lucky that there was no school and he could work. He’d heard from the guy in the shop where he worked that there was a law against begging in this town, which seemed a little harsh in Sam’s opinion. It didn’t matter though, because he didn’t need to beg. And there was no loud father here, ordering him around like some kind of soldier. And Dean and Adam had each other, so that was fine.
It wasn’t like Sam was expecting his time here to last forever. He wasn’t stupid. Sooner or later his family would show up, and they would drag him back. Kicking and screaming if they had to, probably. He would have so much to tell Adam after this. The kid had started asking questions when he turned seven, curious about literally everything. Why is the sky blue? Why do we have so many guns? And so on. Dean had just grinned and shoved Adam towards Sam.
“It’s your turn, dude.” He would say, referring to Sam’s endless mantra of questions. So Sam had answered them patiently (and sometimes not so patiently). Then the dreaded questions came: Where does Dad go? Why does it take him so long to come back? Why do we put salt in front of the door?
To Sam’s dismay, they told Adam about the ‘shadow-world’ when he was eight. Also about his mother, who had apparently been killed by a ghoul. The kid was quiet for two days, then he seemed to have decided that it was cool to be the son of a hunter, and he’d become eager to learn as much as he could about shooting and killing monsters. At first Sam had hoped that Adam, with a curious nature so like his own, would also start questioning Dad. That he, too, would start seeing that the way they were raised was wrong. Instead, it was Sam the young Winchester had started interrogating. Why did Sam fight with Dad so much? Didn’t he see that Dad was just doing what was best for them?
This line of questions was undoubtedly a product of Dean and Adam recently growing closer together. It had happened pretty naturally because Sam wasn’t exactly the guy you wanted to be around when you were all excited for a hunt. Also, with Dean no longer in school and Adam finishing much earlier than Sam, the two spent long afternoons together. So the roles had shifted, where Sam used to be their youngest’s primary caretaker, Dean had slowly started taking over the role.
Secretly, he also thought that his brothers were putting themselves up as a frontier against the arguments between him and Dad. That was good, Sam mused. It would make it easier on his brothers when he finally did leave forever.
And he would, eventually.
Now, as Sam walked down the road to the shop where he worked, he’d been free for two blissful weeks. Two weeks in a broken shack with Bones. Two weeks without nicknames or guns to clean. Two weeks without gruelling training and fearing whatever hunt his family was on. Because they wouldn’t hunt, not with him missing. No, they’d be looking for him instead.
Wouldn’t they?
“Hey, Sam!” Jimmy called out. He owned the shop. The guy was tiny, Sam already towering over him, but he was nice, too. He made sure to know how both his customers and his employees were doing every day, and he kindly turned a blind eye to Sam’s blatantly false ID.
Picking up a box of candy that needed to be unpacked and thrusting it into Sam’s arms, Jimmy said, “There was someone here for you just now. Asked where you lived, said he was your brother.”
“Was he tall? Blond hair? Green eyes?” Sam asked anxiously.
“Yeah, that’s him. You know ‘im?” Jimmy asked.
Sam’s hands stilled over the Mars-bars in the box, his mind racing. They’d caught up with him. Already. If they’d been here they’d be at where he was staying pretty soon, if they weren’t already. It was just Dean that Jimmy had seen though. Which was good, because Dean would at least give him some time to pack and find Bones a home.
Oh, Bones…
“You okay?” Jimmy asked, then more worried, “Don’t worry I didn’t tell him where you live… Not that I know. Or that I should. Or… yeah.”
“I’m fine,” Sam said, and he was surprised to find he was. Maybe two weeks was long enough without his family. Without Dean, who had probably swaggered in here dripping with charm as he showed an old picture of Sam. And if the small fear that he’d been forgotten, which was always lodged somewhere far in the back of his head, had been dispelled now that Dean was looking for him, Sam chose to ignore it.
“You have dogs, right?” Sam asked a puzzled looking Jimmy.
“Yeah…”
“And you like my dog, right? Bones?” Sam continued, a plan forming in his mind.
“That Golden Retriever? She’s adorable.” Jimmy told him as a puzzled look crossed his face.
“Do you have room for another dog? ‘Cause I’m going to be moving soon, and she needs a place to stay…” Sam mumbled quickly. He just wanted to get this conversation over with.
Jimmy eyed him for a moment with an unreadable look. Then he shook his head with a sigh, “I’m guessing this is your formal resignation, then?”
Sam had the dignity to look slightly chastised at those words, but he nodded reluctantly, “I’m sorry, Jim…”
Another sigh escaped Jimmy, “I’ll call home to see if anyone is in, if someone is, you can leave now to bring the dog over.”
A huge grin creeped across Sam’s face, happiness practically oozing from his dimples. Jimmy made his way over to the company phone and called the house number. Sam couldn’t hear what was being said, but after a few minutes Jimmy turned to him with a smile and a thumbs-up.
“Oh, thank you so much! Bones will be such a good girl, I promise!” Sam said, already impatiently dropping Mars-bars back in the box as he hurried out the door.
“Wait, Sam!” Jimmy called, and Sam turned on his heel, “Gonna miss you in the shop. Take care, kid.”
With a sad smile and a grateful nod, Sam left the shop for the last time.
Arriving at the shack was stressful, he was half expecting to see Dean leaning on the doorframe an unimpressed eyebrow raised as a salute. But the frame was empty, and he was greeted only by the enthusiastic snuffling of Bones when he entered. He didn’t even take the time to grab his stuff, he just ordered the dog to follow him; and she did. She always did.
Jimmy’s house was two blocks away. He came there once when he had helped carry something from the shop. Jimmy’s girlfriend, Patricia, had insisted he stay for dinner, so he had. Steaming vegetables and roasted pork had been waiting for him inside. She’d had the day off apparently, and she cooked when she was bored. As Sam neared the house again, he felt a pit grow in his stomach, if he had to eat now he knew it would all come back up in no time.
The bell was rung and two dogs started barking. Patricia opened the door and asked him an endless string of questions about where he was moving. Sam lied, of course. He was good at that, lying. After two minutes they stood awkwardly at the door. Conversation had run out, and Sam needed to go…
Kneeling on the stone path in front of the door, Sam petted Bones one last time. He made sure to scratch him behind the ears just right, and even let her lick his face. Then, with a sad voice and tears in his eyes that he was determined to keep from flooding he whispered his goodbye’s to his trusty friend.
The dog seemed to sense it, whining as Sam got up again.
“Take care of her.” Sam said and he hoped his voice didn’t sound as thick as he thought it did. Patricia nodded sadly and Sam gave Bones her last order, “Stay, Bones-y. Stay.”
Then he walked off the porch and never looked back.
By the time Sam got back to his shack, a leather-clad figure was moving over the cracked sidewalk to the bent iron gate that did very little in keeping out strangers. The gate opened with a creak, and Sam felt something clog his throat at seeing his big brother again. He could walk away now, he could turn around, never come back and Dean would never have to know. But he didn’t. Because Dean was here, and despite the fantastic time he’d had here, Sam had missed him more than he could describe.
Not that he needed him per se, Sam told himself, it was just good to see the guy.
“Hey, jerk.” Sam said unexpectedly behind Dean, and the older Winchester spun around so quickly that Sam thought he was falling over.
“Sammy?” Dean asked unnecessarily, then moved in and hugged Sam so fiercely that he felt guilt pooling in his stomach over leaving. Then he was hit over the head, slightly harder than was probably strictly necessary, before Dean told him, “What the hell, Sam? Running away?”
“I needed to get out.” Sam answered simply, knowing that Dean would read between the lines. A frown marred his big brothers face at those words as he shook his head.
“Next time you need to get out, go for a fucking run. Don’t just up and disappear.” Dean attempted to joke, but it fell flat as Dean pulled clothes from the many corners of the filthy shack.
“I left a note.” Sam defended himself, though he knew it wouldn’t be good enough.
He was proven right when he heard Dean mutter, “Oh right, you left a note. That really helped when I had to explain to Dad what had happened. ‘Sam disappeared, but don’t worry, it’s okay. Cause he left a friggin’ note.’ Yeah. That went over well.”
Sam stopped what he was doing to look at Dean. He hadn’t thought about that. He’d only thought that Dean and Adam had each other so it would be okay. For half a second he stood there like an idiot, shirt still raised to throw in his duffle.
Then he said, “I’m sorry, Dean.”
A sigh was the only answer, but when they left, Dean bumped his shoulder and let him ride shotgun in the Impala. That was as good an acceptance to his apology as he was going to get.
Dad was not so easy to forgive. He sat at the table, feet planted firmly on the ground and his elbows resting on his knees. Adam sat two chairs down, a small fingers running over the ancient inks of some sort of spell book. As Sam walked in he was forced to look right into his father’s cold stare. A shiver of fear ran down his body, but there was something else now, too. Defiance. That was new.
Sure, Sam had been rebellious, insolent, questioning. Flat out defiant, though? It had never so much as crossed his mind. Today Sam didn’t flinch back from Dad’s glare. He didn’t cower or nod. And he would not apologise. Not this time. Instead he caught the gaze head on. Time froze.
For a moment, Dean hovered uncertainly at Sam’s shoulder, then he gravitated to Adam, who was had stopped reading and was staring at his family with wide eyes.
“Sam.” Were the first words from Dad’s mouth. When Sam didn’t answer, he added, “Explain yourself.”
“There’s nothing to explain, sir.” Sam answered with a deceptive calm. Dean’s eyes flitted his way in something of a plea, but Sam had eyes only for his father.
“So, you’re saying you don’t have a valid reason for this flagrant disobeying of my orders?” Dad questioned, voice quiet.
“No, sir.”
“So, there is no reason that you abandoned your family? The little brother that you would protect?” Dad’s voice was slowly rising.
“Adam was perfectly safe! Dean was here.”
“Is that what you do? Do you just pass your duties off to Dean? Do you expect him to take care of you and make excuses for you for the rest of your life?”
“My duties?” Sam yelled indignantly, “You wanna talk about passing off duties? How about parenting duties, Dad? You’re our father! It’s you who should be taking care of us instead of shoving all that responsibility on Dean!”
Dad was standing now, moving in on Sam and grabbing his arm as if that would shut Sam up, “You’re damn right I’m your father, Sam. And you will treat me with some respect.”
“Don’t you always say respect has to be earned?” Sam spat, “Well, I’ll treat you with respect when you’ve earned it.”
As the grip on Sam’s arm tightened, he wondered idly if a bruise would form. Dad’s raised his own arm threateningly and he wondered if for the first time in his life his father would strike him. It didn’t happen. Dean stepped from beside Adam and whispered an alarmed, “Dad!” and the hand dropped from the air.
Instead of being hit, Sam’s face was taken in a calloused hand and forced up to look at his father, who spoke, “I will teach you to respect me. In the meantime, you disobeyed my orders and you will be suitably punished.”
“You never gave orders against running away.” Sam sassed. He really didn’t have a filter when it came to his father and he knew he was going to regret his words the moment they left his mouth.
Sure enough, “There are now. You’re either here with us or you’re not. Coming and going as you please is not what we do in this family. So if you ever run again, don’t expect us to come looking because that’ll mean you are giving up on this family.”
With a scoff, Sam ripped his head from his father’s hand. He didn’t complain though, when he was sent out to run laps. Nor did he so much as speak a word when he was told to clean their entire arsenal before he got to shower. This was his punishment, and he had known it would come.
In bed, with Sam at the other end, and Dean in the bed next to them, Sam allowed himself to smile. Skilfully hiding he glee behind the
darkness, he let himself bask in the glory his two weeks alone. Two weeks without monster and hunts and death. Whatever his family said, he had had a great time. He’d also had his first taste of freedom, and he didn’t think he’d ever get enough.
Suddenly Adam spoke in a whisper, “Dean was really scared something would happen to you. He was frantic. I kept telling him that you could take care of yourself, but he wouldn’t listen. I think I was kinda scared to, though. Even Dad was, I think. That’s probably why he was so angry.”
Sam didn’t answer. He knew his voice would come out all wobbly if he did.
“Sam?”
Levelling his breathing and staring straight at the floor, Sam pretended to sleep until Adam had turned away from him in bed. It was only now that Sam contemplated his father’s words. They had been spoken in anger, but he knew they were honest. Whatever Adam said, he could still tell a truth when he heard one. If he left, he would no longer be part of this family, and it stung Sam in places he hadn’t known he owned. That’s when he let tears flow from his eyes. He cursed Adam, and Dean, and Dad especially. The cursed his life and the choice he knew he would have to make eventually.
Because Sam loved his family, but sometimes he really hated them for wanting to make him stay.
SPN NPS SPN SNP SPN
By the time Sam was fifteen, he could write a book about his family. And it would sell, too, Sam liked to think. His English teacher in Illinois came with an essay assignment and he figured it would be easy enough. After all, Sam had long ago figured out every single way to bullshit an essay and get an A. This assignment, though, hit really close to home. It read: If you ever had the opportunity to take a life and give it to another, who would you choose? Explain.
In Sam’s life, these situations could actually happen. They almost had once or twice. So this question was something that would keep Sam up for nights. If he had to save one family member, and lose another, who would he choose? He’d compiled endless scenarios in his head, endless reactions and endless results. He’d weighed importance and role trying to figure out who this family could lose, and who it couldn’t. The very thought tore through his heart like a bullet, but he needed to be prepared. Just in case.
In the end there was only one result he knew everyone could live with. One result that would free his conscience and manage not to tear the family apart. If one person in his family had to die, it needed to be him.
Sam knew his family cared about him. He knew that each of his family members would die for him, kill for him, probably sell their soul for him. If he did die, Dad would go off on a bender that he wouldn’t return from for two weeks. Dean would throw himself into any and every hunt he could, just for the feel of killing something. And Adam, Adam wouldn’t know what to do. He’d go quiet probably, pick up the pieces that fell from Dean’s heart. So that wasn’t something Sam planned to let happen. If there was ever a choice though, he would know what to choose. Because Sam knew, down to his very bones, that losing him would not destroy the Winchesters. Not like Adam’s, or Dean’s or Dad’s death would.
Not because they didn’t love him, but because he wasn’t part of the family hierarchy. The others, they all had their roles, carved in stone and irreversible. Dad was the captain, he steered them, his revenge drove the family and turned it into what it was. Dean was the older brother, protective, wise, the glue that held this family together with a whisper of his voice and a turn of his hand. Then the third member; Adam. Adorable, willing to listen, and the one spark of hope that kept their dysfunctional asses from driving off a cliff. With one of them gone there would be a hole in their family, in their planning. With Sam gone, there would just be grief.
Because he was just Sam, the afterthought, the one in between. He didn’t really know what his job was in this family. For the most part, they didn’t pay him much attention. He was the weird one after all. With his nose in a book, with an aversion to hunting and a bad attitude (though that last one may have been just Dad’s opinion).
Sometimes Sam felt like he didn’t really belong in this family, like he’d come late to the Winchester show and there was just no more room. It felt like he was surrounded by badass hunters and he was just the liability in the corner, reading a book. Once, when Sam had been engrossed in some obscure work of scripture at Pastor Jim’s, the thought had struck him that maybe God had sent Adam as a replacement for Sam. He was the little brother and son that Dad and Dean needed after all. Clever, hard as nails, and above all, not stubborn and insubordinate like Sam.
The thought had rooted itself in Sam’s mind irrevocably, especially because he felt somehow wrong sometimes. Tainted, dirty, different. He didn’t know where the feeling came from, but it had been there for as long as he could remember. Especially after the dreams, the dreams of death and destruction that sometimes came true. He’d get this pit in his stomach then. What did those dreams mean? Was he psychic? Was he a monster.
And if he was a monster, what would his family do?
Sometimes Sam wondered about that. How angry would his father get? Would get angry in return? Did he have a right to be angry at all? That was something else he questioned sometimes. He argued with his father a lot, but did he really have any right to be angry at his father?
Sure, he knew that his father could have done some things better and deep in his heart he knew that his father meant well. But every fibre of his being told him that the way Dad had raised them was wrong. So, to a certain extent he knew he had the right to argue with this father and point out the flaws, but there was always a strange bout of guilt in his stomach.
After all, he couldn’t help but think that it should be Dean rebelling. Dean, who had given so much, bled so much for this family. Dean, who had watched his entire life burn away on the ceiling of Sam’s nursery and at four years old had shouldered a weight that some adults could barely handle. Dean who had gotten another brother not five years later. Dean who always sacrificed himself for their happiness.
Dean should be angry.
But he never was. Instead he took it all without complaint, with pride even. Sometimes Sam just couldn’t handle how good Dean was. It was practically saint-like, the way he did what Dad wanted.
So Sam was angry in his place. He was fuming. He was furious. He was positively livid.
And he said so.
That was the only way that he was needed, Sam realised with something like terror. He was needed because they loved him and because he was the only one who would speak up to their father. Even thinking it, though, he knew that that was wrong. All he did was upset the balance in the family.
In the end Sam wrote an essay about how he would have let Hitler die early and let Martin Luther King Jr. have the remaining years. It was unoriginal and his grade said as much, but if he had written what he had really come up with, he would probably have been sent to the school counsellor for self-esteem issues. That really wasn’t necessary, because Sam knew that he was capable, smart and loved. He just wasn’t as vital as the rest of the family.
Besides, Winchesters avoided counsellors like the plague.
SPN NPS SPN SNP SPN
When Adam was beaten three inches from his life, Sam was surprised to find that he was calm. They were at the bottom of a mineshaft, a hundred feet and mean fall under Dad and Dean. If Sam listened really closely he could hear them yelling, but he could never hear what they said. Frankly, he couldn’t find it in him to care.
Because Adam was down here with him. Because Adam was hurt. And because they weren’t going to get out any time soon.
There was something on Sam’s leg, pressing, tearing, breaking. It hurt. A lot. That didn’t matter though, because Adam was hurt worse. He stared up with dull eyes in an ashen face, breaths coming out laboured as he tried to breathe through the agony in his ribs. And his arm….
It was bent at an unnatural angle, and bleeding, and there was bone sticking out.
Sam felt like puking. He really wished that Dad was here now, or Dean. Someone else, someone more experienced who would know what to do. But there was only him. His heart raced and he could practically feel his blood pressure rise, but he forced it down. He forced down the all the nausea, all the panic and reached out to Adam.
“Hey, Adam.” Sam whispered. Adam flinched violently away from him. He tried again, “Adam, are you awake?”
Now Adam turned, eyes wide with panic and his breathing fast with fear. With a firm hand, Sam pressed against his brother’s neck, grounding him. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t have Dean’s sense of humour, couldn’t force a laugh for Adam to lighten the mood, he couldn’t order Adam around like Dad would. He just had a mind full of panic and two wonderful examples that he could never live up to.
“Adam, you need to breathe.” Sam said, louder now, “In through your nose, out through your mouth, alright?”
In. Out. In. Out. Sam could hear the air whistling down his brother’s throat and into his lungs. He really wished he could get closer but his leg wouldn’t move. So he stretched himself haphazardly and whispered things he could never for his life recall later. Anything to get his brother to calm down.
After a few minutes (hours, months, years, it felt so goddamned long) Adam’s breathing calmed slightly and he managed to look up at his brother with a smile. Sam’s heart clenched at the faith he saw in there.
“I’m okay.” Adam told him, and Sam could practically feel the scepticism on his features. Dean called it his ‘bitch-face’. Sam felt the need to bitch slap Dean when he said that.
“Sure, you’re as healthy as a horse.” Sam murmured, looking back up but there was only debris above him. And no longer any voices, Dad and Dean must be looking for them. Then he looked down again, and for the first time saw the blood that was leaking from between the bone and skin on his brother’s arm. With is heart in his throat and his stomach halfway out of his mouth, Sam reluctantly told Adam, “I just need to stop bleeding on your arm.”
Adam looked about as pleased with the idea as Sam was, but he didn’t protest when Sam ripped off part of his own sleeve and pressed it gently against the wound. He did scream, though. Low and guttural, piercing right through Sam’s soul. Then his eyes rolled back in his head and his body went limp.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Sam heard the mantra coming from his mouth and he wondered how long he’d been saying it. He wondered how long it would take the blood to stop and how long it would take Dean to get down.
But his heart stayed slow, and his hands remained firm as he bound the bone and down to the skin with his makeshift bandage. He didn’t know if it was the medically correct thing to do, but he really didn’t have any other options.
Time passed only in the counting of Adam’s laboured breaths and the steadily pounding agony in Sam’s left leg.
Then Adam jack-knifed up in a coughing fit that Sam swore shook the entire mine. Seriously. He was almost scared that the stones above them would crumble and crush them. But they didn’t, and after a while the coughing eased and Adam leaned into the hand that Sam only just noticed was on his brother’s shoulder.
“You okay?” Sam asked, even though he knew it was a stupid question. He already knew what the answer would be.
Sure enough, like a true Winchester, Adam nodded. Sam almost rolled his eyes at that. At how utterly stupid their ‘manly’ little charade was. At how utterly stupid his own manly charade was, because he knew he did the same.
A Winchester only admitted to not being okay with his dying breath. Though Sam was glad that Adam wasn’t so far gone yet, he really wished the kid would just be honest.
“No you’re not.” Sam sighed, “Don’t lie to me.”
“If you know the answer, then why are you asking?” Adam snapped, then descended back into a coughing fit that sent ice into Sam’s veins. He felt his hand tighten around this brother’s shoulder in reflex.
“’Cause I’m annoying like that.” Sam said when the thought Adam could hear him again, then with a forced smile, “Now you should probably stop talking before you tire yourself out.”
There was a slight twitch in Adam’s lips that Sam took as a smile, and he repressed the urge to muss up his brother’s hair. While Dean did that to him mostly out of fondness, there was always an underlying worry behind the move. And Sam didn’t want to betray how deep his own worry was. Not yet.
Though Sam was perfectly content with silence, he knew that like with Dean, it always set Adam on edge. He was just wracking his brain for something to say, when his brother turned to him as if to speak.
“How do you do this? How do you stay level-headed when shi-“ Adam wheezed, then corrected his language as if it makes a difference, “Crap hits the fan?”
For a moment Sam couldn’t answer, he was laughing too hard inside. The thought that he was at all level-headed was ridiculous when he spent half his life flying off the handle and yelling at their father. The notion that he was calm was bizarre when Sam constantly felt like his entire life was falling apart and he was holding it together with cello-tape. Like now, when he couldn’t even think past the blood on Adam’s arm and the wheeze in Adam’s voice.
Not that Sam could actually say that. Instead laughed maniacally and shook his head, “I just breathe through it, man. I just breathe.”
Adam nodded almost thoughtfully, brow knitting together in concentration as he tried to steady his breathing and calm down. Sam hoped it would work better on Adam than it did on him. Deep down, though, he knew if wouldn’t. It was only a matter of time before his brother would pass out again and he really needed to stay awake. Sam thought of what Dean always did when he was in this situation. How he would just talk, ignore his ‘no chick-flick moment’ rule and tell Sam about life before. About Mom. And Sam would cling to the words because he never heard them any other time.
But he had never known Mom. Even if he had, Adam had had a different one.
“Man,” Sam whined instead, “If I had known Dad and Dean would take this long, I would have brought a book.”
Adam snorted, then whispered, “Or a TV.”
“A snack, maybe.” Sam continued with a smile, he remembered playing this game with Adam when they were kids. They would be sitting in the back of the Impala and they would list all the things they wished they had brought along. Even years later, Sam could tell Adam liked doing it.
“The entire kitchen.” Adam whispered, and Sam grinned. This was going to escalate quickly, he thought.
By the time they had finished, Adam was bringing along a dragon and Sam was pretty sure that the kid would have thought of even stranger things if he had the breath to spare. But just breathing was growing hard for him, and Sam felt the vice around his heart go tighter.
He started talking then, about things at school. About that time that Dean had accidentally cut himself while shaving and told all the girls at school he’d gotten into a fight because a guy had said the girls at the school were slutty. Dean said the story had gotten him laid and Sam thought it might have been pity sex at the bad lie. He talked about the time that Dad had thrown his white underwear in with a red shirt and had walked around for weeks with pink underwear.
Sam talked until his voice was hoarse, and held pressure on the bleeding fracture until his fingers cramped. But Adam was still growing cold to the touch, blinking lethargically with every rattling breath.
When Dean’s voice suddenly sounded through the wall Sam almost cried in relief.
“Dean!” he shouted hoarsely, “Dean, we’re here!”
Booted feet came running in Sam’s direction and he hoped Adam hadn’t heard the crack in his voice just now. There was a call to Dad and a clatter of falling stones before Dean appeared in front of them. His green eyes were wild and dirt was streaked over his face, but Sam had never been happier to see his brother.
“Sammy?” Was Dean’s first instinct as he moved closer, “You okay?”
Sam just nodded fervently and pointed at Adam. He didn’t even need to say anything, because as soon as Dean got a look at their youngest brother, all attention was focussed there. Panic in his eyes and worry in his shoulders as he crouched down. Warm hands were on Adam’s cheeks, patting trying to wake him up.
“Adam. Adam, wake up.” Came the low whisper and Sam felt himself hoping that Dean would use one of his usual miracles and do what Sam hadn’t managed to do since the last time their brother closed his eyes.
Dad came careening into their field of vision and spared Sam half a glance before he moved towards Adam. He, too, must have seen which of his sons was worse off. It was only minutes later, when Dad and Dean started lifting Adam to get him out, that Sam realised he was stuck.
Dad and Dean disappeared around the corner without so much of a word and Sam wondered in panic if they were going to leave him here. He wanted to call out for them to come back, but his voice snagged in his throat.
They would probably be right back. They were probably just getting Adam to safety before they returned for him. But the panicked voice in the back of Sam’s head said. They’re not coming. They’ve come to the same conclusion that you have. You’re not as important as Adam. They’re leaving you because they need to save him.
Sam wondered why that thought hurt so much. Then Dean came running back. He lifted the stone from Sam’s leg and half dragged him up. Sam barely had time to feel the relief that flooded his system when he realised that his big brother had come for him after all. Like he always did.
“How’s Adam?” he heard himself asking as he tried not to concentrate on his left leg. It was bent in angles it shouldn’t be able to, and every hop that Dean supported him in sent spikes of through him that were so white-hot that they blanched his vision.
“Not good. There’s a helicopter coming.” Dean said roughly, then distractedly, “Can you handle this pace?”
As an answer, Sam hopped a bit faster.
Two days later, as they sat around the hospital bed, Sam couldn’t help but feel a sting of regret in his chest. Regret and jealousy and so much relief that his brother was alive. But as soon as Dean had arrived Sam had been forgotten. Instead, Adam hung onto Dean’s every word and softly touched Dean’s hand as he told Adam how worried he’d been that they would lose their youngest. While Dad sat looking at the interaction, trying and failing not to smile, Sam sat off to the side in his wheelchair.
He didn’t voice how worried he had been, how his heart hadn’t stopped dropping and dropping until the doctors had said Adam was safe. He didn’t barge in and try to take this rare moment of open affection from his family. Nor did he point out that he’d been the one down there, the one forced to watch as Adam slowly wasted away.
Because that wouldn’t be fair. This wasn’t about him. This was about Adam who had nearly died, and about Dad and Dean who had saved him. The fact that Sam had been with his brother, trying to keep him awake said nothing. He’d failed to do that, after all and while they were getting out, Sam had only slowed them down instead of helping.
Again, Sam realised how much he craved freedom from his life. The same way that he never wanted to stitch up Dean again, he also did not ever want to be faced with what he had down in the mine shaft. Never again did he want to sit by and watch while his little brother faded under his hands.
What he wanted was to get out.
Would that endanger Adam? Dean? Dad maybe even? Sam didn’t think so. After all, Sam hadn’t been the one to save Adam, that had been Dean. Not for the first time, Sam realised that his family didn’t really need him. That maybe they would do fine without him.
Then an entirely new thought formed, somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, the realisation that he could live with that. That if they didn’t need him, that meant he could leave without repercussions. That he could get out.
Watching Adam, still pale but talking avidly to Dean, Sam wondered if he could handle that.
He wondered if maybe he needed them.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 3
Summary: ‘At the door Dean said, “Watch out for Adam, huh, little bro?” And mussed up Sam’s floppy hair.’ Adam’s mother is killed by ghouls when he is young and John takes him in. The family dynamic shifts. For Sam everything changes and nothing does. Pre-series AU.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or anything else that is even vaguely recognisable.
Author’s Note: For the sake of artistic freedom, I have made Adam slightly older than he would have been. He was born in ‘88 instead of ’90. Also, in this universe, Sam has a few visions when he’s younger.
Warnings: Nothing but the occasional swearword. Though if I missed anything, please let me know and I will edit the warnings!
Chapter 2: Nonviolent Resistance
Flagstaff was awesome. Sure, the streets were filthy and the city is mostly industrial, with huge industrial parks lining the outskirts and trucks thundering over the road every few minutes. But for the first time in his life Sam was well and truly without his family. And it was glorious. He had part-time job at the local shop, did errands here and there, and with that money managed to feed himself and squat in a rundown house. It was also in here in Flagstaff that he met the best dog in the entire world; Bones. Bones, because that and skin had been all the dog was when Sam found him.
Sam was lucky to have the job, he knew, lucky that there was no school and he could work. He’d heard from the guy in the shop where he worked that there was a law against begging in this town, which seemed a little harsh in Sam’s opinion. It didn’t matter though, because he didn’t need to beg. And there was no loud father here, ordering him around like some kind of soldier. And Dean and Adam had each other, so that was fine.
It wasn’t like Sam was expecting his time here to last forever. He wasn’t stupid. Sooner or later his family would show up, and they would drag him back. Kicking and screaming if they had to, probably. He would have so much to tell Adam after this. The kid had started asking questions when he turned seven, curious about literally everything. Why is the sky blue? Why do we have so many guns? And so on. Dean had just grinned and shoved Adam towards Sam.
“It’s your turn, dude.” He would say, referring to Sam’s endless mantra of questions. So Sam had answered them patiently (and sometimes not so patiently). Then the dreaded questions came: Where does Dad go? Why does it take him so long to come back? Why do we put salt in front of the door?
To Sam’s dismay, they told Adam about the ‘shadow-world’ when he was eight. Also about his mother, who had apparently been killed by a ghoul. The kid was quiet for two days, then he seemed to have decided that it was cool to be the son of a hunter, and he’d become eager to learn as much as he could about shooting and killing monsters. At first Sam had hoped that Adam, with a curious nature so like his own, would also start questioning Dad. That he, too, would start seeing that the way they were raised was wrong. Instead, it was Sam the young Winchester had started interrogating. Why did Sam fight with Dad so much? Didn’t he see that Dad was just doing what was best for them?
This line of questions was undoubtedly a product of Dean and Adam recently growing closer together. It had happened pretty naturally because Sam wasn’t exactly the guy you wanted to be around when you were all excited for a hunt. Also, with Dean no longer in school and Adam finishing much earlier than Sam, the two spent long afternoons together. So the roles had shifted, where Sam used to be their youngest’s primary caretaker, Dean had slowly started taking over the role.
Secretly, he also thought that his brothers were putting themselves up as a frontier against the arguments between him and Dad. That was good, Sam mused. It would make it easier on his brothers when he finally did leave forever.
And he would, eventually.
Now, as Sam walked down the road to the shop where he worked, he’d been free for two blissful weeks. Two weeks in a broken shack with Bones. Two weeks without nicknames or guns to clean. Two weeks without gruelling training and fearing whatever hunt his family was on. Because they wouldn’t hunt, not with him missing. No, they’d be looking for him instead.
Wouldn’t they?
“Hey, Sam!” Jimmy called out. He owned the shop. The guy was tiny, Sam already towering over him, but he was nice, too. He made sure to know how both his customers and his employees were doing every day, and he kindly turned a blind eye to Sam’s blatantly false ID.
Picking up a box of candy that needed to be unpacked and thrusting it into Sam’s arms, Jimmy said, “There was someone here for you just now. Asked where you lived, said he was your brother.”
“Was he tall? Blond hair? Green eyes?” Sam asked anxiously.
“Yeah, that’s him. You know ‘im?” Jimmy asked.
Sam’s hands stilled over the Mars-bars in the box, his mind racing. They’d caught up with him. Already. If they’d been here they’d be at where he was staying pretty soon, if they weren’t already. It was just Dean that Jimmy had seen though. Which was good, because Dean would at least give him some time to pack and find Bones a home.
Oh, Bones…
“You okay?” Jimmy asked, then more worried, “Don’t worry I didn’t tell him where you live… Not that I know. Or that I should. Or… yeah.”
“I’m fine,” Sam said, and he was surprised to find he was. Maybe two weeks was long enough without his family. Without Dean, who had probably swaggered in here dripping with charm as he showed an old picture of Sam. And if the small fear that he’d been forgotten, which was always lodged somewhere far in the back of his head, had been dispelled now that Dean was looking for him, Sam chose to ignore it.
“You have dogs, right?” Sam asked a puzzled looking Jimmy.
“Yeah…”
“And you like my dog, right? Bones?” Sam continued, a plan forming in his mind.
“That Golden Retriever? She’s adorable.” Jimmy told him as a puzzled look crossed his face.
“Do you have room for another dog? ‘Cause I’m going to be moving soon, and she needs a place to stay…” Sam mumbled quickly. He just wanted to get this conversation over with.
Jimmy eyed him for a moment with an unreadable look. Then he shook his head with a sigh, “I’m guessing this is your formal resignation, then?”
Sam had the dignity to look slightly chastised at those words, but he nodded reluctantly, “I’m sorry, Jim…”
Another sigh escaped Jimmy, “I’ll call home to see if anyone is in, if someone is, you can leave now to bring the dog over.”
A huge grin creeped across Sam’s face, happiness practically oozing from his dimples. Jimmy made his way over to the company phone and called the house number. Sam couldn’t hear what was being said, but after a few minutes Jimmy turned to him with a smile and a thumbs-up.
“Oh, thank you so much! Bones will be such a good girl, I promise!” Sam said, already impatiently dropping Mars-bars back in the box as he hurried out the door.
“Wait, Sam!” Jimmy called, and Sam turned on his heel, “Gonna miss you in the shop. Take care, kid.”
With a sad smile and a grateful nod, Sam left the shop for the last time.
Arriving at the shack was stressful, he was half expecting to see Dean leaning on the doorframe an unimpressed eyebrow raised as a salute. But the frame was empty, and he was greeted only by the enthusiastic snuffling of Bones when he entered. He didn’t even take the time to grab his stuff, he just ordered the dog to follow him; and she did. She always did.
Jimmy’s house was two blocks away. He came there once when he had helped carry something from the shop. Jimmy’s girlfriend, Patricia, had insisted he stay for dinner, so he had. Steaming vegetables and roasted pork had been waiting for him inside. She’d had the day off apparently, and she cooked when she was bored. As Sam neared the house again, he felt a pit grow in his stomach, if he had to eat now he knew it would all come back up in no time.
The bell was rung and two dogs started barking. Patricia opened the door and asked him an endless string of questions about where he was moving. Sam lied, of course. He was good at that, lying. After two minutes they stood awkwardly at the door. Conversation had run out, and Sam needed to go…
Kneeling on the stone path in front of the door, Sam petted Bones one last time. He made sure to scratch him behind the ears just right, and even let her lick his face. Then, with a sad voice and tears in his eyes that he was determined to keep from flooding he whispered his goodbye’s to his trusty friend.
The dog seemed to sense it, whining as Sam got up again.
“Take care of her.” Sam said and he hoped his voice didn’t sound as thick as he thought it did. Patricia nodded sadly and Sam gave Bones her last order, “Stay, Bones-y. Stay.”
Then he walked off the porch and never looked back.
By the time Sam got back to his shack, a leather-clad figure was moving over the cracked sidewalk to the bent iron gate that did very little in keeping out strangers. The gate opened with a creak, and Sam felt something clog his throat at seeing his big brother again. He could walk away now, he could turn around, never come back and Dean would never have to know. But he didn’t. Because Dean was here, and despite the fantastic time he’d had here, Sam had missed him more than he could describe.
Not that he needed him per se, Sam told himself, it was just good to see the guy.
“Hey, jerk.” Sam said unexpectedly behind Dean, and the older Winchester spun around so quickly that Sam thought he was falling over.
“Sammy?” Dean asked unnecessarily, then moved in and hugged Sam so fiercely that he felt guilt pooling in his stomach over leaving. Then he was hit over the head, slightly harder than was probably strictly necessary, before Dean told him, “What the hell, Sam? Running away?”
“I needed to get out.” Sam answered simply, knowing that Dean would read between the lines. A frown marred his big brothers face at those words as he shook his head.
“Next time you need to get out, go for a fucking run. Don’t just up and disappear.” Dean attempted to joke, but it fell flat as Dean pulled clothes from the many corners of the filthy shack.
“I left a note.” Sam defended himself, though he knew it wouldn’t be good enough.
He was proven right when he heard Dean mutter, “Oh right, you left a note. That really helped when I had to explain to Dad what had happened. ‘Sam disappeared, but don’t worry, it’s okay. Cause he left a friggin’ note.’ Yeah. That went over well.”
Sam stopped what he was doing to look at Dean. He hadn’t thought about that. He’d only thought that Dean and Adam had each other so it would be okay. For half a second he stood there like an idiot, shirt still raised to throw in his duffle.
Then he said, “I’m sorry, Dean.”
A sigh was the only answer, but when they left, Dean bumped his shoulder and let him ride shotgun in the Impala. That was as good an acceptance to his apology as he was going to get.
Dad was not so easy to forgive. He sat at the table, feet planted firmly on the ground and his elbows resting on his knees. Adam sat two chairs down, a small fingers running over the ancient inks of some sort of spell book. As Sam walked in he was forced to look right into his father’s cold stare. A shiver of fear ran down his body, but there was something else now, too. Defiance. That was new.
Sure, Sam had been rebellious, insolent, questioning. Flat out defiant, though? It had never so much as crossed his mind. Today Sam didn’t flinch back from Dad’s glare. He didn’t cower or nod. And he would not apologise. Not this time. Instead he caught the gaze head on. Time froze.
For a moment, Dean hovered uncertainly at Sam’s shoulder, then he gravitated to Adam, who was had stopped reading and was staring at his family with wide eyes.
“Sam.” Were the first words from Dad’s mouth. When Sam didn’t answer, he added, “Explain yourself.”
“There’s nothing to explain, sir.” Sam answered with a deceptive calm. Dean’s eyes flitted his way in something of a plea, but Sam had eyes only for his father.
“So, you’re saying you don’t have a valid reason for this flagrant disobeying of my orders?” Dad questioned, voice quiet.
“No, sir.”
“So, there is no reason that you abandoned your family? The little brother that you would protect?” Dad’s voice was slowly rising.
“Adam was perfectly safe! Dean was here.”
“Is that what you do? Do you just pass your duties off to Dean? Do you expect him to take care of you and make excuses for you for the rest of your life?”
“My duties?” Sam yelled indignantly, “You wanna talk about passing off duties? How about parenting duties, Dad? You’re our father! It’s you who should be taking care of us instead of shoving all that responsibility on Dean!”
Dad was standing now, moving in on Sam and grabbing his arm as if that would shut Sam up, “You’re damn right I’m your father, Sam. And you will treat me with some respect.”
“Don’t you always say respect has to be earned?” Sam spat, “Well, I’ll treat you with respect when you’ve earned it.”
As the grip on Sam’s arm tightened, he wondered idly if a bruise would form. Dad’s raised his own arm threateningly and he wondered if for the first time in his life his father would strike him. It didn’t happen. Dean stepped from beside Adam and whispered an alarmed, “Dad!” and the hand dropped from the air.
Instead of being hit, Sam’s face was taken in a calloused hand and forced up to look at his father, who spoke, “I will teach you to respect me. In the meantime, you disobeyed my orders and you will be suitably punished.”
“You never gave orders against running away.” Sam sassed. He really didn’t have a filter when it came to his father and he knew he was going to regret his words the moment they left his mouth.
Sure enough, “There are now. You’re either here with us or you’re not. Coming and going as you please is not what we do in this family. So if you ever run again, don’t expect us to come looking because that’ll mean you are giving up on this family.”
With a scoff, Sam ripped his head from his father’s hand. He didn’t complain though, when he was sent out to run laps. Nor did he so much as speak a word when he was told to clean their entire arsenal before he got to shower. This was his punishment, and he had known it would come.
In bed, with Sam at the other end, and Dean in the bed next to them, Sam allowed himself to smile. Skilfully hiding he glee behind the
darkness, he let himself bask in the glory his two weeks alone. Two weeks without monster and hunts and death. Whatever his family said, he had had a great time. He’d also had his first taste of freedom, and he didn’t think he’d ever get enough.
Suddenly Adam spoke in a whisper, “Dean was really scared something would happen to you. He was frantic. I kept telling him that you could take care of yourself, but he wouldn’t listen. I think I was kinda scared to, though. Even Dad was, I think. That’s probably why he was so angry.”
Sam didn’t answer. He knew his voice would come out all wobbly if he did.
“Sam?”
Levelling his breathing and staring straight at the floor, Sam pretended to sleep until Adam had turned away from him in bed. It was only now that Sam contemplated his father’s words. They had been spoken in anger, but he knew they were honest. Whatever Adam said, he could still tell a truth when he heard one. If he left, he would no longer be part of this family, and it stung Sam in places he hadn’t known he owned. That’s when he let tears flow from his eyes. He cursed Adam, and Dean, and Dad especially. The cursed his life and the choice he knew he would have to make eventually.
Because Sam loved his family, but sometimes he really hated them for wanting to make him stay.
SPN NPS SPN SNP SPN
By the time Sam was fifteen, he could write a book about his family. And it would sell, too, Sam liked to think. His English teacher in Illinois came with an essay assignment and he figured it would be easy enough. After all, Sam had long ago figured out every single way to bullshit an essay and get an A. This assignment, though, hit really close to home. It read: If you ever had the opportunity to take a life and give it to another, who would you choose? Explain.
In Sam’s life, these situations could actually happen. They almost had once or twice. So this question was something that would keep Sam up for nights. If he had to save one family member, and lose another, who would he choose? He’d compiled endless scenarios in his head, endless reactions and endless results. He’d weighed importance and role trying to figure out who this family could lose, and who it couldn’t. The very thought tore through his heart like a bullet, but he needed to be prepared. Just in case.
In the end there was only one result he knew everyone could live with. One result that would free his conscience and manage not to tear the family apart. If one person in his family had to die, it needed to be him.
Sam knew his family cared about him. He knew that each of his family members would die for him, kill for him, probably sell their soul for him. If he did die, Dad would go off on a bender that he wouldn’t return from for two weeks. Dean would throw himself into any and every hunt he could, just for the feel of killing something. And Adam, Adam wouldn’t know what to do. He’d go quiet probably, pick up the pieces that fell from Dean’s heart. So that wasn’t something Sam planned to let happen. If there was ever a choice though, he would know what to choose. Because Sam knew, down to his very bones, that losing him would not destroy the Winchesters. Not like Adam’s, or Dean’s or Dad’s death would.
Not because they didn’t love him, but because he wasn’t part of the family hierarchy. The others, they all had their roles, carved in stone and irreversible. Dad was the captain, he steered them, his revenge drove the family and turned it into what it was. Dean was the older brother, protective, wise, the glue that held this family together with a whisper of his voice and a turn of his hand. Then the third member; Adam. Adorable, willing to listen, and the one spark of hope that kept their dysfunctional asses from driving off a cliff. With one of them gone there would be a hole in their family, in their planning. With Sam gone, there would just be grief.
Because he was just Sam, the afterthought, the one in between. He didn’t really know what his job was in this family. For the most part, they didn’t pay him much attention. He was the weird one after all. With his nose in a book, with an aversion to hunting and a bad attitude (though that last one may have been just Dad’s opinion).
Sometimes Sam felt like he didn’t really belong in this family, like he’d come late to the Winchester show and there was just no more room. It felt like he was surrounded by badass hunters and he was just the liability in the corner, reading a book. Once, when Sam had been engrossed in some obscure work of scripture at Pastor Jim’s, the thought had struck him that maybe God had sent Adam as a replacement for Sam. He was the little brother and son that Dad and Dean needed after all. Clever, hard as nails, and above all, not stubborn and insubordinate like Sam.
The thought had rooted itself in Sam’s mind irrevocably, especially because he felt somehow wrong sometimes. Tainted, dirty, different. He didn’t know where the feeling came from, but it had been there for as long as he could remember. Especially after the dreams, the dreams of death and destruction that sometimes came true. He’d get this pit in his stomach then. What did those dreams mean? Was he psychic? Was he a monster.
And if he was a monster, what would his family do?
Sometimes Sam wondered about that. How angry would his father get? Would get angry in return? Did he have a right to be angry at all? That was something else he questioned sometimes. He argued with his father a lot, but did he really have any right to be angry at his father?
Sure, he knew that his father could have done some things better and deep in his heart he knew that his father meant well. But every fibre of his being told him that the way Dad had raised them was wrong. So, to a certain extent he knew he had the right to argue with this father and point out the flaws, but there was always a strange bout of guilt in his stomach.
After all, he couldn’t help but think that it should be Dean rebelling. Dean, who had given so much, bled so much for this family. Dean, who had watched his entire life burn away on the ceiling of Sam’s nursery and at four years old had shouldered a weight that some adults could barely handle. Dean who had gotten another brother not five years later. Dean who always sacrificed himself for their happiness.
Dean should be angry.
But he never was. Instead he took it all without complaint, with pride even. Sometimes Sam just couldn’t handle how good Dean was. It was practically saint-like, the way he did what Dad wanted.
So Sam was angry in his place. He was fuming. He was furious. He was positively livid.
And he said so.
That was the only way that he was needed, Sam realised with something like terror. He was needed because they loved him and because he was the only one who would speak up to their father. Even thinking it, though, he knew that that was wrong. All he did was upset the balance in the family.
In the end Sam wrote an essay about how he would have let Hitler die early and let Martin Luther King Jr. have the remaining years. It was unoriginal and his grade said as much, but if he had written what he had really come up with, he would probably have been sent to the school counsellor for self-esteem issues. That really wasn’t necessary, because Sam knew that he was capable, smart and loved. He just wasn’t as vital as the rest of the family.
Besides, Winchesters avoided counsellors like the plague.
SPN NPS SPN SNP SPN
When Adam was beaten three inches from his life, Sam was surprised to find that he was calm. They were at the bottom of a mineshaft, a hundred feet and mean fall under Dad and Dean. If Sam listened really closely he could hear them yelling, but he could never hear what they said. Frankly, he couldn’t find it in him to care.
Because Adam was down here with him. Because Adam was hurt. And because they weren’t going to get out any time soon.
There was something on Sam’s leg, pressing, tearing, breaking. It hurt. A lot. That didn’t matter though, because Adam was hurt worse. He stared up with dull eyes in an ashen face, breaths coming out laboured as he tried to breathe through the agony in his ribs. And his arm….
It was bent at an unnatural angle, and bleeding, and there was bone sticking out.
Sam felt like puking. He really wished that Dad was here now, or Dean. Someone else, someone more experienced who would know what to do. But there was only him. His heart raced and he could practically feel his blood pressure rise, but he forced it down. He forced down the all the nausea, all the panic and reached out to Adam.
“Hey, Adam.” Sam whispered. Adam flinched violently away from him. He tried again, “Adam, are you awake?”
Now Adam turned, eyes wide with panic and his breathing fast with fear. With a firm hand, Sam pressed against his brother’s neck, grounding him. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t have Dean’s sense of humour, couldn’t force a laugh for Adam to lighten the mood, he couldn’t order Adam around like Dad would. He just had a mind full of panic and two wonderful examples that he could never live up to.
“Adam, you need to breathe.” Sam said, louder now, “In through your nose, out through your mouth, alright?”
In. Out. In. Out. Sam could hear the air whistling down his brother’s throat and into his lungs. He really wished he could get closer but his leg wouldn’t move. So he stretched himself haphazardly and whispered things he could never for his life recall later. Anything to get his brother to calm down.
After a few minutes (hours, months, years, it felt so goddamned long) Adam’s breathing calmed slightly and he managed to look up at his brother with a smile. Sam’s heart clenched at the faith he saw in there.
“I’m okay.” Adam told him, and Sam could practically feel the scepticism on his features. Dean called it his ‘bitch-face’. Sam felt the need to bitch slap Dean when he said that.
“Sure, you’re as healthy as a horse.” Sam murmured, looking back up but there was only debris above him. And no longer any voices, Dad and Dean must be looking for them. Then he looked down again, and for the first time saw the blood that was leaking from between the bone and skin on his brother’s arm. With is heart in his throat and his stomach halfway out of his mouth, Sam reluctantly told Adam, “I just need to stop bleeding on your arm.”
Adam looked about as pleased with the idea as Sam was, but he didn’t protest when Sam ripped off part of his own sleeve and pressed it gently against the wound. He did scream, though. Low and guttural, piercing right through Sam’s soul. Then his eyes rolled back in his head and his body went limp.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Sam heard the mantra coming from his mouth and he wondered how long he’d been saying it. He wondered how long it would take the blood to stop and how long it would take Dean to get down.
But his heart stayed slow, and his hands remained firm as he bound the bone and down to the skin with his makeshift bandage. He didn’t know if it was the medically correct thing to do, but he really didn’t have any other options.
Time passed only in the counting of Adam’s laboured breaths and the steadily pounding agony in Sam’s left leg.
Then Adam jack-knifed up in a coughing fit that Sam swore shook the entire mine. Seriously. He was almost scared that the stones above them would crumble and crush them. But they didn’t, and after a while the coughing eased and Adam leaned into the hand that Sam only just noticed was on his brother’s shoulder.
“You okay?” Sam asked, even though he knew it was a stupid question. He already knew what the answer would be.
Sure enough, like a true Winchester, Adam nodded. Sam almost rolled his eyes at that. At how utterly stupid their ‘manly’ little charade was. At how utterly stupid his own manly charade was, because he knew he did the same.
A Winchester only admitted to not being okay with his dying breath. Though Sam was glad that Adam wasn’t so far gone yet, he really wished the kid would just be honest.
“No you’re not.” Sam sighed, “Don’t lie to me.”
“If you know the answer, then why are you asking?” Adam snapped, then descended back into a coughing fit that sent ice into Sam’s veins. He felt his hand tighten around this brother’s shoulder in reflex.
“’Cause I’m annoying like that.” Sam said when the thought Adam could hear him again, then with a forced smile, “Now you should probably stop talking before you tire yourself out.”
There was a slight twitch in Adam’s lips that Sam took as a smile, and he repressed the urge to muss up his brother’s hair. While Dean did that to him mostly out of fondness, there was always an underlying worry behind the move. And Sam didn’t want to betray how deep his own worry was. Not yet.
Though Sam was perfectly content with silence, he knew that like with Dean, it always set Adam on edge. He was just wracking his brain for something to say, when his brother turned to him as if to speak.
“How do you do this? How do you stay level-headed when shi-“ Adam wheezed, then corrected his language as if it makes a difference, “Crap hits the fan?”
For a moment Sam couldn’t answer, he was laughing too hard inside. The thought that he was at all level-headed was ridiculous when he spent half his life flying off the handle and yelling at their father. The notion that he was calm was bizarre when Sam constantly felt like his entire life was falling apart and he was holding it together with cello-tape. Like now, when he couldn’t even think past the blood on Adam’s arm and the wheeze in Adam’s voice.
Not that Sam could actually say that. Instead laughed maniacally and shook his head, “I just breathe through it, man. I just breathe.”
Adam nodded almost thoughtfully, brow knitting together in concentration as he tried to steady his breathing and calm down. Sam hoped it would work better on Adam than it did on him. Deep down, though, he knew if wouldn’t. It was only a matter of time before his brother would pass out again and he really needed to stay awake. Sam thought of what Dean always did when he was in this situation. How he would just talk, ignore his ‘no chick-flick moment’ rule and tell Sam about life before. About Mom. And Sam would cling to the words because he never heard them any other time.
But he had never known Mom. Even if he had, Adam had had a different one.
“Man,” Sam whined instead, “If I had known Dad and Dean would take this long, I would have brought a book.”
Adam snorted, then whispered, “Or a TV.”
“A snack, maybe.” Sam continued with a smile, he remembered playing this game with Adam when they were kids. They would be sitting in the back of the Impala and they would list all the things they wished they had brought along. Even years later, Sam could tell Adam liked doing it.
“The entire kitchen.” Adam whispered, and Sam grinned. This was going to escalate quickly, he thought.
By the time they had finished, Adam was bringing along a dragon and Sam was pretty sure that the kid would have thought of even stranger things if he had the breath to spare. But just breathing was growing hard for him, and Sam felt the vice around his heart go tighter.
He started talking then, about things at school. About that time that Dean had accidentally cut himself while shaving and told all the girls at school he’d gotten into a fight because a guy had said the girls at the school were slutty. Dean said the story had gotten him laid and Sam thought it might have been pity sex at the bad lie. He talked about the time that Dad had thrown his white underwear in with a red shirt and had walked around for weeks with pink underwear.
Sam talked until his voice was hoarse, and held pressure on the bleeding fracture until his fingers cramped. But Adam was still growing cold to the touch, blinking lethargically with every rattling breath.
When Dean’s voice suddenly sounded through the wall Sam almost cried in relief.
“Dean!” he shouted hoarsely, “Dean, we’re here!”
Booted feet came running in Sam’s direction and he hoped Adam hadn’t heard the crack in his voice just now. There was a call to Dad and a clatter of falling stones before Dean appeared in front of them. His green eyes were wild and dirt was streaked over his face, but Sam had never been happier to see his brother.
“Sammy?” Was Dean’s first instinct as he moved closer, “You okay?”
Sam just nodded fervently and pointed at Adam. He didn’t even need to say anything, because as soon as Dean got a look at their youngest brother, all attention was focussed there. Panic in his eyes and worry in his shoulders as he crouched down. Warm hands were on Adam’s cheeks, patting trying to wake him up.
“Adam. Adam, wake up.” Came the low whisper and Sam felt himself hoping that Dean would use one of his usual miracles and do what Sam hadn’t managed to do since the last time their brother closed his eyes.
Dad came careening into their field of vision and spared Sam half a glance before he moved towards Adam. He, too, must have seen which of his sons was worse off. It was only minutes later, when Dad and Dean started lifting Adam to get him out, that Sam realised he was stuck.
Dad and Dean disappeared around the corner without so much of a word and Sam wondered in panic if they were going to leave him here. He wanted to call out for them to come back, but his voice snagged in his throat.
They would probably be right back. They were probably just getting Adam to safety before they returned for him. But the panicked voice in the back of Sam’s head said. They’re not coming. They’ve come to the same conclusion that you have. You’re not as important as Adam. They’re leaving you because they need to save him.
Sam wondered why that thought hurt so much. Then Dean came running back. He lifted the stone from Sam’s leg and half dragged him up. Sam barely had time to feel the relief that flooded his system when he realised that his big brother had come for him after all. Like he always did.
“How’s Adam?” he heard himself asking as he tried not to concentrate on his left leg. It was bent in angles it shouldn’t be able to, and every hop that Dean supported him in sent spikes of through him that were so white-hot that they blanched his vision.
“Not good. There’s a helicopter coming.” Dean said roughly, then distractedly, “Can you handle this pace?”
As an answer, Sam hopped a bit faster.
Two days later, as they sat around the hospital bed, Sam couldn’t help but feel a sting of regret in his chest. Regret and jealousy and so much relief that his brother was alive. But as soon as Dean had arrived Sam had been forgotten. Instead, Adam hung onto Dean’s every word and softly touched Dean’s hand as he told Adam how worried he’d been that they would lose their youngest. While Dad sat looking at the interaction, trying and failing not to smile, Sam sat off to the side in his wheelchair.
He didn’t voice how worried he had been, how his heart hadn’t stopped dropping and dropping until the doctors had said Adam was safe. He didn’t barge in and try to take this rare moment of open affection from his family. Nor did he point out that he’d been the one down there, the one forced to watch as Adam slowly wasted away.
Because that wouldn’t be fair. This wasn’t about him. This was about Adam who had nearly died, and about Dad and Dean who had saved him. The fact that Sam had been with his brother, trying to keep him awake said nothing. He’d failed to do that, after all and while they were getting out, Sam had only slowed them down instead of helping.
Again, Sam realised how much he craved freedom from his life. The same way that he never wanted to stitch up Dean again, he also did not ever want to be faced with what he had down in the mine shaft. Never again did he want to sit by and watch while his little brother faded under his hands.
What he wanted was to get out.
Would that endanger Adam? Dean? Dad maybe even? Sam didn’t think so. After all, Sam hadn’t been the one to save Adam, that had been Dean. Not for the first time, Sam realised that his family didn’t really need him. That maybe they would do fine without him.
Then an entirely new thought formed, somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, the realisation that he could live with that. That if they didn’t need him, that meant he could leave without repercussions. That he could get out.
Watching Adam, still pale but talking avidly to Dean, Sam wondered if he could handle that.
He wondered if maybe he needed them.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 3