Chapter Text
Sam has always wanted to be normal, you know? Live a regular life like the ones he saw on TV or in books. He wanted the full cliché, the stereotype, the big family that had its share of messes and issues but at the end of the day they were happy and together. He wanted the picket fence, the regular school, the dog, the sibling who annoyed him but loved him, and the two parents that never fought. Just a normal family.
He’d been normal once. He thinks he was normal at least. It’d been so long ago, and he’d been a baby, barely three when his mom split with his older brother. Not many memories of that time, and his dad never told him any stories to help prove that once upon a time Sam Winchester was a normal baby with a normal dad and a mom. And a big brother who looked after him.
Then all of that went up in flames on a demon’s command, and Sam lost any chance of normal.
Except no, Sam wouldn’t let that happen. He wasn’t going to be a freak for the rest of his life. He was going to choose his own path. Screw his family and the burnt remains of his old life. He was getting out.
He just had to last the month. Just one more month than he was free of John, free of his constricting, obsessive father and his endless rules and requirements. Eighteen and only answerable to himself. May 2nd marked the beginning of his new life. A life free of hunting.
Ellen would let him stay, and if she didn’t, he’s sure Bobby might, though he would be a last resort since he kept in better touch with them. Someone would take him in at the very least. Sam may have inherited some of John’s antisocial traits, but he had a few friend and associates in the life. All he needed was a room during the school year. He’d work the bar to pay his way if needed. Once he had his diploma, he’d be gone. He already had half a dozen schools he wanted to apply to, all that required a stable address to send back their responses. One of them had to accept him, had to want him. He didn’t care what it cost him. He’d pay any price to get out of this life, out from under his father’s thumb.
The engine to the impala died dropping from a roar to silence quickly. Sam stepped out into the gravel lot ignoring the twinge of his pain from his ribs. He reached into the backseat and only grabbing his duffel bag after a second of consideration. He’d come back for his book bag later, carrying both out of the question at the moment, for now he’d just settle his clothes in Ellen’s guest room while he made his pitch.
Sam dragged his duffel further onto his shoulder. A quick glance at his watch confirmed the time at fifteen til noon. The roadhouse was closed, but he knew Ellen would be opening soon. She was probably already setting up the bar for the scant lunch crowd they usually grabbed. Hunters were always drifting in and out, John and him among that crowd. Sam would just be a slightly more permanent patron, at least for the next year.
It’d only been a week since he’d last seen her, but fuck, did that week feel so much longer. John had dumped him on her for two months while he fucked around the Midwest chasing a wolf pack. Sam had been more than happy to see the taillights of his father’s truck fade away. Less happy when he’d seen the headlights lighting up the drive just when he was actually settled in, at school and in Ellen’s home.
Sam scoffed quietly under his breath. John had dragged him out of here, disrupting his life again, just to leave him in a motel a week later with orders to complete an easy salt-and-burn and no mention of when he’d be back. Just another punishment because John had probably felt how happy Sam had been and just couldn’t let that happen on his watch.
The door swings open easily. Sam doesn’t pause to consider that. Most hunters know better than to come before Ellen allows. She unlocked her doors when she was near ready to open up and kept a shotgun ready for those stupid enough to test her. Sam had come face to face with said shotgun more than once before.
“Ellen?” Sam ducks his head slightly when he walks through the entryway. The main area of the bar was empty. “Jo? Ash? Anybody home?”
A quiet groan from behind the pool tables answered his question. Sam laughed under his breath. He dumped his duffel bag on an empty chair. Hurrying over, Sam’s boots thumped loudly against the wood floors enough warning that Ash had just managed to open one of his eyes.
“Sam-o!” Ash groaned. He paused squinting. “Did you get taller? You look different.”
“Good to see you too, man.” Sam shook his head, hair hanging in front of his eyes. Resting his arms against the edge of the pool table, he watched Ash’s eyes close again. “Ellen down here?”
“Somewhere.” Ash rolled his head away from Sam, a clear sign he wasn’t going to get anything else from the man. A second later he was snoring utterly dead to the world.
Sam rolled his eyes but left Ash to it. He’d catch up with Ash once he actually rose for the day, probably when Ellen got sick of him hogging one of her pool tables for a bed or started pouring beer. Ash had to have some stupid story from the last week that would be entertaining to listen to if more than bit odd.
“Ellen?” Sam called out heading for the bar. He could hear some shuffling back in the kitchen. Setting his hands on the bar, Sam called out again. “Anybody home?”
“Sam?” Ellen’s voice yelled back, muffled.
“Yeah, it’s me.” Sam said, a touch of cheer coloring his voice. “Miss me?”
He turned back around now leaning against the bar. It let him watch the front door with a good angle of the rest of the room. He was turning his back to Ellen’s entrance, but he hated turning his back to an unlocked door. Even Ash’s snores put his teeth on edge when he wasn’t facing them. He didn’t like to feel pinned in, hated it in fact. Standing like this relaxed him.
It was better for him to have this conversation with Ellen relaxed.
Sam ran through his prepared argument, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. He’d worked on it the entire drive back. It was simple, designed specifically to suit Ellen. She was a parent with a kid only a couple years younger than him that she wanted to keep out of the hunting life. Sam felt bad preying on that, but whatever got him a roof over his head, right?
If she brought up finances, he’d offer his own savings, meager as they were. He’d work the bar, clean up the kitchen, do any job she wanted him to do. Hell, he’d even tutor Jo if that won her over though he knew Jo would hate it.
If she brought up school, he’d remind her that he hadn’t technically withdrawn from the local high school yet. He’d just called in sick all week while he planned everything out. There wouldn’t be an issue there.
If she brought up John…
He’d convince her it wouldn’t matter. Sam had a month, just one last month. Then he’d finish out his junior year. John wouldn’t notice he was gone until then. After May 2nd, it wouldn’t matter what he thought, Sam wouldn’t be beholden to him anymore. Once he got through his senior year, he’d be gone, dust kicked up behind him.
He could do it. He could convince her.
The door to the kitchen swung open, squeaking just so. Sam turned his head back glancing over his shoulder with a bright smile that never felt fake around Ellen. Only it wasn’t Ellen walking out of the kitchen. It wasn’t Ellen staring at him, watching him with pale expressionless faces.
It was them.
Mary and Dean.
His mother and his elder brother.
The last two members of Sam’s terribly un-stereotypical family. Who had left him to John.
It’d been nearly six years since he’d last seen them. John avoided a lot of folks, for good reason usually since he tended to leave a good deal of hurt behind him, but these were the only two that Sam never complained about. In fact, he had an even greater aversion than his father.
Sam’s eyes trembled. He bit his lip. Any other day. Any other day and he could handle seeing the pair. He’d steel his spine, bare his teeth, and stand his ground. But today? When he needed to beg Ellen to take him in? When he had to bring down his walls and risk everything?
“Fuck no.” Sam turned. He snagged his duffel bag on his way back to the door sending the chair toppling to the ground. Voices sprung up behind him, but he ignored them. Ignored them the same way they’d ignored him for years, for fucking years.
He’d come back in a few days once Mary and Dean had cleared town. Once the pair had run back to their perfect picket fence house and he screwed his head back on straight. Til then he’d make do with the backseat of the Impala and gas station sink baths. His latest growth spurt meant that curling up was touch harder than it used to be, but he’d take that discomfort over letting them see him beg and plead.
“Sammy, wait!”
A familiar rage built up in his chest. Normally he’d swing back around. He’d explain in no uncertain terms that no one and nobody got to call him that name, especially one of them. Draw blood if need be to prove his point.
Except he needed Ellen, needed her to take him in after this. And she liked the pair a lot more than she liked John Winchester. And Sam was firmly placed next to John Winchester in everyone’s books. If he upset them, Ellen may tell him no, ban him from the roadhouse. Worse, she may call John. Sam couldn’t afford any of that.
So, he retreated, ran back to his car.
“Sammy! Jesus fucking Christ, would you slow down?” A deep voice, deeper than six years ago, called after him. Sam simply let the door slam back in the other’s face, knowing it wouldn’t stop anyone but still hoping.
Sam’s hand was reaching for the driver’s door. Just a few more inches and he’d be home free. Just a few more inches and all of this would just be another memory to forget. Another tick in the freak column.
A callused hand closed around his wrist.
“Sammy, c’mon man, you don’t need to run.” The voice huffed. “We just wanted to say hi.”
“You said it, bye.” His voice was clipped, hiding a raging fire beneath. He wrenched open the door with his free hand.
“Don’t,” The voice growled, frustration clearly building. “Don’t be like this!”
Sam lifted his head, glaring. Dean flinched. Over his shoulder, Sam could see Mary standing frozen on the steps down to the parking lot. He tore his gaze away from her before he could do something stupid like wonder if she recognized the little toddler she’d abandoned in his grown features or see how she’d changed in the last few years. Neither of those things mattered. Mary didn’t matter to him, and he meant nothing to her.
Sam jerked his arm free. Dean stepped forward to stop him. Sam braced himself for a fight. Dean was shorter than him but definitely had more muscle. Sam could win, but it’d be a brutal win when all he wanted was to run, flee before his anger lost him his one place of refuge.
“Dean! Let him go!” Mary’s voice cut through the tense air.
Almost instantly Dean backed down, shifting back a few paces. There was still a desperate sort of anger in his eyes, one that Sam recognized by refused to say matched what he saw in the mirror most days. He was nothing like them, nothing like his mother and her chosen son.
Sam dropped into the impala without another word, swinging his door shut. He slammed the keys into the ignition delighting in the flash of annoyance that ran across Dean’s face. He nearly smiled, lips twitching before he swung the car out of the lot.
His eyes never lifted from the road. His rear view mirror remained out of his view.
He made it fifteen miles before he had to pull off the road, hands trembling so bad he’s surprised he didn’t send the car into the roadside shrubbery.
Sam bent his head forward, banging against the wheel. His nails cut into his palms from how tightly he gripped the wheel. His rings pinched at his skin. The pain made him feel better, kept him present when all he wanted to do was scream. Just scream and scream until his voice gave out.
Why? Why show up today of all days? He’d never run into either of them at the roadhouse before. Ellen usually gave him a warning, and she probably did the same to them whenever he was with her.
Sam let his eyes flutter closed. The radio hummed quietly next to him, some mullet rock band that John liked more than he did switching to an old Beatles song that Sam vaguely remembered though he couldn’t say from where. John hated the Beatles, and certainly wouldn’t play anything like this for a younger Sam.
Breathing forced and eyes shut, Sam let the music wash over him, a false serenity if there ever was one.
It’d be fine. He’d wait a few more days. It was Friday, barely the weekend anyway. He wouldn’t need to worry about classes until Monday morning. Mary and Dean would move on before too long. They always did.
Til then Sam would let the soft almost hymn-like song lull him down from his anger. He’d listen to this song, and then he’d get back on the road. He’d make it better. It didn’t matter what pain Mary and Dean caused him, he wouldn’t let them get to him.