Chapter Text
Sam had a lot of ways to clear his mind: Reading, researching, organizing, and lately he was getting into ping pong. Unfortunately, all of those activities were done in the bunker that currently housed his dead girlfriend, so he went for a drive.
He didn't take the impala, he knew better than that. That car was made for him and his brother, with Sam riding shotgun. He never really thought to drive it when he had other options. His car was one that he had been working on for a while, his free time project ever since they had started living in the bunker.
He wasn't much of a mechanic, never achieved the clarity of mind that Dean seemed to find under a hood, but he had the know-how enough to fix almost anything.
The old Ford was actually the youngest car in the garage (besides the Impala), a 1961. It didn't take much to get it running, and if working with his hands didn't give him peace, knowing he could actually fix something…
He sighed and pressed on the gas. The highway was empty as the sun went down, and he could see the last orange rays lighting up the bumps in the asphalt. It almost looked like tongues of fire eating up the road in front of him.
Winchesters and fire didn’t get along. Sam turned on the headlights.
16 Years Ago
“You know, asking me a hundred times isn’t guaranteed to change my answer.”
“Don’t be a square, Sam.”
“No one says that.”
Brady blew air through his lips and shrugged, hands barely holding on to the can of cheap beer he had nearly finished. Sam was sitting at his tiny desk, legs crumpled under it, and working on his laptop. Brady had been trying to convince Sam to go to this party for nearly a week, saying it wasn’t natural to be holed up in a dorm studying. Of course, it was entirely normal for Sam. The only difference was the content: Supreme Court Cases vs. Obituaries.
But Brady had been angling towards the party scene ever since winter break, and was trying his best to drag Sam along. It’s not as if he didn’t want to go, like some of his classmates, who detested the atmosphere of parties. No, Sam just wasn’t that interested. He had had his fill of alcohol and angst before he was fourteen.
“Come on!” Brady whined, as Sam started yet another assignment. “That’s not even due till Friday!”
Sam just rolled his eyes.
“Seriously Sam, there’s this girl I want you to meet. Smoking hot, pre-med, and a TA for Ms. Sanchez. You’ll love her!”
“I don’t need to woo the TA for English Brady, I have an A in that class.”
“Dude, you gotta see this chick.”
Truth be told, it was probably the fact that his friend in that moment had sounded so much like Dean that he decided to go. Though he hated the hunting lifestyle, there was an empty feeling he got in his chest sometimes; When he passed classic cars, or saw someone hustling pool or flirting with a waitress. He didn’t miss the life, but he missed Dean.
“Fine. But I’m the DD.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way Sammy.”
-----
His first thought was that she was probably out of his league. Her blond curls spilled over her shoulders, and her red crew neck made her blue eyes sparkle in the low lights of the frat house. She was standing by the mini bar with a few other girls, her friends he assumed.
Brady was blazing a trail through the lethargic crowd, heading straight for her, Sam following behind. Before Sam could stop him, tell him to leave well enough alone, they were at the bar, and she was looking up at him with a tiny, dimpled smile.
“Hey Jess,” Brady began, obviously a little tipsy already. “Remember that pre-law kid I was telling you about?” He gestured loosely to Sam. “This is him!”
She laughed, small and quiet before nodding at her friends, who dispersed into the crowd, drinks in hand. Sam felt himself unconsciously blushing beneath her gaze.
“I’m Jess. But Brady probably already mentioned that.”
“No yeah, he did.” Sam sent the man behind him an amused glare. Brady got it after a second and stumbled away with a scoff.
She laughed again, and this time Sam joined in. It was hard not to when her whole face seemed filled with light despite the dimness surrounding them.
-----
“So, this is our second date but you still haven’t told me why you chose pre-law of all things?”
Sam chuckled. “Why do you wanna know? Trying to analyze me for your psych class again?” He joked.
“Nah,” She said with a wink, “As much as I’d like to know all your secrets Winchester, I’ll settle for a simple answer to your career choice.”
“Well, it’s not that simple. Kind of a long story actually.”
“If I’m right, and I’m always right, we have plenty of time. Another year and then a few more of grad school. I’m sure you’ll be able to fit a story or two in somewhere.”
“Alright. I told you I grew up sort of on the road,” She nodded and he continued. “Well my family and I, we tried our best to make the world a better place. And I respected that mission, I still do. But, the way my dad went about it…” She placed her hand over his as he paused and he grinned, feeling open and vulnerable and whole, something he hadn’t felt since he left his brother’s side. “I just wanted to do it my way. To serve justice and, you know, help people.”
“Well Sam,” She said, moving her hand so it lifted his off the table, making it possible to intertwine their fingers. “That’s a very noble reason.”
He raised an eyebrow, it looked like she was holding back laughter.
“What’s so funny?”
“Honestly? I thought you were just gonna say ‘money’.”
They both burst out laughing, making the students in the booths around them shake their heads, and the waitress roll her eyes from behind the counter.
“What about you? I mean doctors are paid pretty well,” He said, mostly holding off the residual giggles.
“Actually, I’m going into family practice.”
“Really?”
“I mean, it’s sad but, there really aren’t that many people these days willing to work the kind of grueling hours required in shorter staffed, lower budget clinics, especially when the pay is half what any surgeon would make. It just never felt fair. All those kids who need it more, all those people with barely enough resources as it is. Well I guess I just want to do something to fix it, even if it’s just an extra pair of hands forty hours a week.”
He smiled. “And you said I was noble.”
She put her other hand on his cheek. There was something in the way she seemed to stare past all his walls, all his cracks and scars and nervous glances. The way he skirted around his past and his family and everyone else. She looked straight through it, not even trying to dig. She just saw him.
“I guess we’re both heroes Sam Winchester.”
-----
She felt him before she saw him.
“Jesus, Sam!” She gasped as the large shape barreled into her, wrapping her up in his arms and lifting her clear off the floor.
It was a few seconds before she was let back on her own two feet, but he still didn’t let go of the grip on her arms.
“What happened?” His tone was matter-of-fact, but from the light of their living room lamp she could see his brow furrowed and his eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“I’m fine, really! I just missed the bus,” She put her hand on his arm and could feel him trembling beneath her touch. “What’s wrong?”
His voice was quiet and barely controlled when he replied.
“Why didn’t you call?”
“Sam, my phone died and there wasn’t exactly a pay phone around. It’s only been two hours, nothing happened.”
He buried his face in the hair on the top of her head and took a long, shaky breath. He murmured something that she could only just make out, though she realized his words weren’t meant for her.
“Can’t lose you.”
He didn’t break contact with her for the rest of the night, holding her hand or brushing her shoulder with his. When she looked away she felt his eyes tracking her movement, as if he expected her to collapse or disappear.
After they went to bed, and sometime around 4am, she felt him get up. She watched through heavy lidded eyes as he emptied their salt shaker, and made a thin line across the bottom of the doorframe, just under the mat.
-----
Sam’s mind flickered in and out of unconsciousness like sleep was a deep and turbulent ocean and he was constantly coming up for air. He could feel the unfamiliar lightness of the cheap and scratchy motel sheets on his body, smell the barely concealed whiffs of cigarette smoke and beer, hear his brother shift in his sleep.
There was a heaviness pressing down on his chest, that spread like tranquilizer down his arms and legs, pinning him where he lay. He was awake, but he didn’t open his eyes.
They felt singed, blackened and hot, like the fire had found a home behind his lids. Some part of it had to have followed him, because he felt it eating away at his insides. It was slow. Burning through him, melting his organs and deadening his nerves until he was nothing but a walking corpse fueled only by the rekindled embers of old anger.
Anger at the world, his father, the creature that had taken everything from him. His heart became a great dam, letting out only the emotions that would keep him alive, on his toes and fighting. But he knew there were deep terrors behind it. Feelings that if he let free, would crush him completely.
Sam had always liked to pray. It made him feel like he had purpose, some measure of control in the ever-changing enigma that was his world. He had prayed to escape hunting, to get a full ride, and every night for over a year he had prayed that what he was doing would be enough to keep Jess safe. That his mere existence wouldn’t place a target on her back and fire an arrow. Those prayers were filled with hope, a chance at a normal life with the woman he loved. Maybe he should’ve known better. Maybe he should’ve stopped praying and stayed to protect her. Maybe he should have listened to the dreams that hallowed out his soul and left him feeling more terrified than he had ever felt.
But now, he was empty. A puppet pulled along by invisible strings that yelled at him to take revenge, to seek justice, to destroy.
Dean grunted and rolled over and Sam wished more than anything that right then he could be his brother. Driven without doubt, certain without conflict, the perfect hunter.
He dug his fingernails into his palms and prayed. Prayed with all of the anger and hate and fury that kept him upright. He was going to find what did this, and he was going to kill it.
Now
Even as he pulled back into the Bunker’s garage, he couldn’t keep his hands from shaking.
Dean had texted him, saying she was awake, and she wanted to talk to him. That she was waiting in the library.
How he could face her… that was a different story. After all these years, everything he had learned about her death, everything he had done since, what he had become. Guilt was as ingrained in a Winchester’s psyche as a splinter was in skin.
The nightmare of Jess’ death still made appearances in the myriad of torments he endured each night. Seeing her again…
Doing was easier than thinking. So he turned off the car and walked in. He tried to focus on his breathing, his heart rate, the temperature, anything but the impossible task before him.
Cas was waiting just outside the library, pacing back and forth. He looked up when Sam appeared from around the corner.
“Hey Cas. Is Dean…”
“In there with her, yes.”
Sam gulped and nodded, refusing to meet the angel’s concerned gaze.
“Sam, are you sure…”
“Yeah, I am. I can’t hold this off, it’d be cruel and unnecessary.” Finally, he looked down at his friend. “I can do this Cas.”
Castiel smiled and gestured to the door.
“I know Sam.”