Work Text:
Storm Clouds
Chapter 1 - Alone you run fast
. . .
The school bus slowed to a jittery stop. It’s yellow and rust frame choked out an unhealthy cloud of smoke in protest. Sam sighed as he followed the other 10th graders out the doors, rolling his eyes as the bus groaned in relief. Just another nowhere town in the middle of Winter and a school that would be lucky to still see him at the end of this month.
Late November winds rolled over his worn parka, ruffling the frayed and beaten material that had known many better days. Sam shivered instinctively and readjusted his rucksack straps for something to do as he walked towards the school’s main entrance. Disgust flashed over his face at the sight of paint covered cracks and broken windows. If this place fell down during fourth period, Sam wouldn’t be surprised. Hell, he wasn’t sure this place met any governing standards.
Dean and John had been gone all week long hunting a Kelpie two towns over. His big brother had been quick to dodge the subject of how well it was going when he found the time to call, but by the rather aggressive message his Dad had left last night about sticking to his training routine, Sam doubted things boded well. And as per usual, he had been saddled with all the research.
The corridor felt like it just might burst with all the loud voices of his excited peers. It was the last week till Christmas break and it was the only thing anyone wants to talk about. Jimmy Bones skidded to a near stop, bashing loudly into the old, navy lockers besides Sam.
“Hey, mate.” Smiled the brunet before leaning in for a fist bump. “You busy after school?”
The smile that had only mirrored on Sam’s face moments earlier fell away like rain. “Sorry, I’ve got plans.”
“Plans like running all over town? Twice?”
Sam frowned lightly, hoping his friend might think him innocent. “What do you mea-“
“Don’t even try it mate. My sister saw you yesterday.” Jimmy tutted. “Are you mad? It’s below freezing outside and it’s been snowing every night these past two weeks. My mum said you’ll catch your death.” He finished knowingly.
“It’s my Dad. Training.” Sam added carefully before continuing. “He was military, wants to keep me and my brother ready.”
“Ready for what?” Jimmy asked with a laugh.
“Anything.” Sam stated. “And everything, I guess. Sometimes it’s just too much trouble to question him, easy to go along with it.”
“Seriously, dude, that’s rough.” Jimmy shook his head in pity. “He does realise how cold it is outside?”
“Yep.” Sam sighed, biting his lip. “He just doesn’t care.”
Slamming his locker, the youngest Winchester ignored the newest dent he had made and smiled at his friend. “Ready for class?”
Jimmy groaned in frustration, slinging his arm over the shorter boy’s shoulders as they started heading towards the chemistry department. “No way, man. I was up all-night studying for Miss. Bavmorda’s test, how do you do it, Sam? I would do anything for a perfect score.”
Sam laughed, catching a glimpse of the snow outside as it begun to spill from the grey heavens. This was going to be a long day.
. .
. . .
. .
Miss. Bavmorda seemed even more on edge than usual. As she handed out the tests, her eyes flickered around the classroom like a frightened rabbit searching for a fox. Sam kicked his rucksack behind his chair before settling in the desk next to Jimmy. He looked up to find dark, brown curls that had fallen limp and grease with neglect
“Miss?” Sam asked under his breath.
A second later he noticed the sheets of paper being held out by his face.
Blushing lightly, Sam took the quiz without another word and ignored Jimmy as he sniggered under into his hands. Sam rolled his eyes and hummed. Scanning the first couple of questions, a small grin crept onto his face. Glad he stayed up past 4 last night to study, Sam clicked his pen and started to write.
Half an hour ticked by and Sam leant back wearily into his seat. His wrist ached like a son of a bitch. Not just from writing, but the strain from cleaning all those weapons yesterday evening. Cracking his joints, Sam flinched only now noticing the clip of high-heeled shoes on tilted floors. He muffled a yawn into his sleeve, frowning as Miss. Bavmorda stopped behind his desk for a few moments too long. Sam froze feeling her dark eyes on his neck and did his best to suppress the shiver that travelled down his spine.
“Finished Winchester?” She asked coldly, moving to his side.
“N-Not yet, Miss.” Sam stuttered, keeping his eyes downcast.
The chemistry teacher huffed. “Then don’t stop on my account.”
She turned, continuing down the isle and never once looking back.
. .
. . .
. .
For the rest of the day, something in Sam felt off. The world dulled into shades of grey. Shimmering and fluttering out of focus like a hazy dream. He checked himself for a fever and after a few pleading words convinced an embarrassed Jimmy to check his forehead as well. Nothing. It was too strange. No point heading to the nurse, there’s no one around for 600 miles who could pick him up.
As the hours pass, his mind slipped further.
Sam walked out of fifth period in a daze, rucksack pulled tightly to his chest and tucked under his chin. There’s something important inside he needs to protect. Perhaps he should head, head. . . Where is he supposed to go?
A motel, a room flittered amongst his spinning thoughts, but it seemed neither real, and then, not quite fake. He had to run away. Far, far away. The idea took root like a sickness, like a vine that wrapped itself around everything else and constricts, constricts, constricts. It blocked out every other thought.
An all-consuming poison that took over his mind and body. He wandered listlessly out of the school. Forgetting the bus entirely, forgetting to say goodbye to Jimmy, Sam begun trudging along the road. The last coherent thought crossed his mind. . . Was Miss. Bavmorda smiling as he left?
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. . .
. .
His impressions of the world remain uncertain, there and gone without warning. The was a. . . bus stop? Wait, yes, a bus stop out of town. A drunkard that sat next to him and pressed up against the side of his body despite every other seat being empty. The pockets in his rucksack rattled with loose change and the old, weather-worn driver muttered something about kids these days and drugs. He waved him inside despite being unable to pay.
The pounding, thudding in his skull lessens with every mile that stretched between him and. . . and. . . something, something dangerous? Yeah, that sounded right. He didn’t care where the bus went as long as it’s far away from the before. He ended up at a train station in the dead of night. There were no stars in the sky and he was not quite sure why that made him sad. He slept there till early morning when a strange took one look at him and ushered him away.
Days passed in a blur of run, run, run and the further he goes, the better he felt. With no money for taxis, he hot-wires car after car, driving until the engine burns out and hitchhiking where else he can.
His every reflection made him frown. It’s a face he did not recognise, youthful yet worn beyond his years. Sometimes it made him remember, remember that he knew nothing at all. Not a name or past, not if he has a family, or a home. Was there somewhere he should be? He looked around the latest bus stop, cracked glass and broken bottles laid to rest. The rucksack on his lap drew his fleeting attention. There were books, notepads, pens, and a gorgeous silver knife but nothing to identify himself.
“Who are you?” He whispered to his numb hands.
The cold air left his breath visible but there is no reply. Only the wind whistled down the empty, dark street. Thinking just caused his head hurt so he reached for his headphones, turned up the volume, tilted his body backwards and closed his eyes. The steady beat washed away all his thoughts and drained his will to fight.
All that is left to do is run.
. .
. . .
. .
Shadows followed him day and night. Whispering sweet nothings, mostly murmurs that were indecipherable, low-humming noise that he could easily ignore.
The car sped along the icy roads and the radio helped to drown out the voices behind his eyes. His rucksack sat in the seat beside him. He blinked at it owlishly, there was something important in there. Something he needed to protect. The distraction lasted too long.
A horn blared in front and he looked up in shock to find he has swerved onto the wrong side of the road. Jerking the wheel left in a blind panic, the tires lost their friction and skidded off the slippery tarmac. The crash happened slowly. Without a seatbelt, he cursed himself as his head flew forwards into the steering wheel. The pounding behind his eyes grew louder and louder. He needed to run. Thoughtlessly kicking the door open, grabbed his rucksack and he fell out onto the cold, hard ground. Sharp stones scratched his palms and cut into his knees as he stood.
Run. Run. Run.
His right eyebrow burnt furiously. It itched and itched. But the feeling barely registered against the need to keep going. So, he slung the rucksack over his shoulder and started to walk. His stomach growled and when. . . when was the last time he ate? Days. . . A week?
The snow appeared from nowhere. Blankets fell in waves, numbing his pale fingers and lips, and before it even occurred to his thoughts the storm raged around him. A white screen covering the world.
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. . .
. .
He blinked slowly at a blue sky. Consciousness came back to him in the form of uncontrollable shivers and he sat up slowly despite his raw, blistering skin. He must have passed out during the storm. Sighing quietly, he wearily pulled himself to stand and kicked himself into gear at the sound of an engine. Scrambling through the heavy snow to the roadside, he holds out his arm in a failed attempt to hitchhike.
The truck sped along out of the night, before sliding to a stop in front of him. The passenger door swung open relieving a burly looking man with bags under his eyes.
“Need a left kid?”
He stood in shock, muscles locking into place. This music. This song. The radio blared out and he couldn't bear to listen to the driver, watching as the man's mouth moved but oblivious to his words
His vision whited and his mind screeched woundedly as Led Zeppelin rocked on.
“Hey, kid? Kid? Wanna a ride or not?”
Shaking his head feverishly, he turned and started walking.
"Whatever kid, nearest town's seven miles that way."
The engine grumbled as the truck ran away and suddenly air finally begun to fill his lungs again. Every second the truck continued in the opposite direction he felt lighter, freer once again.
. .
. . .
. .
The town’s lights came into view and disappeared every time he could no longer hold his head up straight. And without even blinking he was trudging along a street he did not know the name of and dawn was kissing the sky.
Then from the silence, a growl like a wolf. An engine, but not like the truck. Stronger, deeper, scarier. The car’s breaks slammed with no warning and every cell in his body jumped. He hit the ground running. Sprinting across the road like a rabbit in headlights, he clutched the rucksack to this chest.
"SAMMMY!”
Perhaps it was the way that voice rung inside his head, or maybe it was the somehow familiar sensation that spread in his gut that caused him to flinch and look back. Mistake. He slipped in full force, the back of his head greeting the tarmac.
“SAM!”
The second voice was rougher, whisky-worn, and commanding.
He twisted on the ground, scrambling to get to his feet as the buzzing in his ears told him to run, run, run. It was useless. His limbs failed him devastatingly. The shadows burst of the car, racing towards him.
“SAMMY, IT’S OKAY!”
Suddenly they were on him. The bigger shadow, the creature held him down with impossibly strong hands. Pushing him stomach down to the pavement, causing the icy surface to painful scratch him cheek.
“Jesus Dad, there’s nothing of him.” Whispered the other shadow creature. It sounded so, so sorrowful.
He renewed his struggles again and started to scream.
"Dean, get his bag!”
"Yes, sir.”
The shadow moved to take the rucksack that was laid abandoned where he fell. Pure, cold dread wrapped around his throat. No, there was something important. Something he had to protect.
“No,” he begged. “Please, no, no, no. . .”
“It’s gonna be okay, Sammy.” The creature cooed at he searched through the rucksack. “Found it, Sir!”
"Good, Dean. Burn it.” The shadow holding him down growled.
He screamed as loudly as his lungs would allow, watching the lit match touch the small, precious bag. The flames licked the purple material and turned an ugly, disgusting black.
Sam frowned in confusion. The greys begun to bleed away as colour once again started to fill his world. Frightened hazel eyes looked up, frantic and searching until they met bright, worried blue ones.
“Sammy?” The man, no his brother, his brother Dean, whispered.
Sucking in a shaky breath, Sam slowly started to feel every little bit of abuse, every battering his body had taken. He swallowed and whimpered in pain like a wounded animal.
“Dad! You’re hurting him!” Dean was ever so quick to pull their John's unresisting hands off him.
Maybe everything still hurt and each blink only sought to fuel his dizziness, but Sam hummed as he was pressed against his brother's chest. Dean's strong heartbeat echoed in his ear. Ir was so warm and he was so tired.
Sam choked on what he knew all too well was blood and his heart broke watching all the colours he had regained faded to black.
“Dean, I need you to carry Sam to the car. We’re going to the Hospital. . .”
. . .