Title: The Other Son
Author: revenant_scribe
Chapter One: Freak
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warnings: wincest, semi-spoilers for 1.18 'Something Wicked'.
Status: Ongoing
A/N: AU. This is difficult to summarize fully without also spoiling fully.
Summary: A vision incites Sam to leave his father's side and head to Fitchburg. Without any clear notion as to what he is hunting, and no supernatural signs in the town of any kind as far as he can tell, Sam begins with what little he does know. But it doesn't take long before Sam begins to wonder if there might just be more than one mystery to be uncovered.



“Where are you?”

“Dad,” Sam said. He’d been expecting the call, had actually assumed it would come earlier, before he’d gotten so close to his destination. It didn’t make speaking with his father any easier. He gripped the phone in his hand, watched as Fitchburg welcomed him proudly with a bright sign that declared its population (2,051). Sam ignored the sign, his fingers tensing on the steering wheel until the knuckles turned white, and then he relaxed his grip.

“Sam?”

“I’m just entering Fitchburg.”

“Fitchburg,” John paused. “There’s nothing happening in Fitchburg.” John said it with the sort of authority Sam had gotten used to hearing, and he defied it with an ease he had cultivated over the years of being kept under his father’s sharp eye.

“Yes, there is.”

“What?”

“…I’m not exactly sure.” Outside the window various pieces of the landscape sent prickles through him -- jogged vague senses of memory. Sam had never been to Fitchburg before.

“You don’t even know …” John’s tone changed, grew deeper and his words clearer. “Sam. Are you … don’t you do this.”

It had been a long time since that tone of voice had worked to keep Sam in check. He’d been out hunting on his own for over two years. He was twenty-one, old enough to make his own choices. “I can’t just ignore it, Dad.”

“Sam. I want you to stop this. I have a job; people are getting hurt. Turn the car around, Sammy.” Sam had reached the heart of the small town, there were restaurants and shops and a play-park, it was as good a spot as any to get out and get a feel for the place.

“This is where I’m supposed to be,” Sam said.

“Where you need to be is over in Indiana, where there is an actual case – actual reports coming in about people getting hurt. Do you have any idea what you’re walking into there?”

“No, I don’t,” Sam admitted. He pulled the impala over to the side of the road and let it idle. Fitchburg was not as small as Sam had been expecting it to be, but it was in no way a large town and there weren’t many people cluttering the streets despite the sun being out and the sky being as blue as it was.

“I don’t want you over there by yourself, at the mercy of …”

“Of what?” Sam asked. “Of what, dad? You trust your instincts all the time!”

“That’s something different.”

“How so? You want me to pretend this isn’t a part of me, but I can’t. I’ve tried, dad. Believe me, I’d like nothing more than to be just like anyone else. But I’m not. Right now, everything in me is saying that this is where I need to be.”

“Sammy …”

“I’ll call you when I figure out what’s going on.” Sam ended the call and dropped the phone on the seat beside him. He was hungry and he needed to get a feel for the town, figure-out what had drawn him there.

Sam had spent most of his life learning how to blend-in, to look like he belonged, no matter how awkward and out-of-place he felt. Some towns sent shivers up his spine, prickles of unease like he was being watched or weighed, like people were just waiting for him to slip-up. Fitchburg wasn’t one of those places. Instead, as Sam stepped-out of the car into the warm summer air, it felt like being wrapped in a blanket. His car was the one thing that didn’t blend, not anywhere -- a ’67 Chevy impala that had been his dad’s for the longest time, which Sam had inherited by rights when he’d finally gotten around to getting his license – making it official that he could drive. Sam loved and hated that car.

He was always aware that he and the car didn’t quite look as if they belonged together – the car a sleek, visibly powerful and perhaps even threatening beast, and himself, tall and carefully disguised to look gangly and unthreatening. Sam liked to hide his muscles, walking around like a stork that might be blown-over in a stiff breeze because, in a bar when someone wanted to pick a fight they never anticipated the thick muscle that his loose clothes were masking – and Sam could move. Still, even with the juxtaposition, Sam got a friendly smile from an older woman stepping out of a deli across the street, and when she’d finished stuffing her purchases into a large wicker-woven purse, she stepped across the street, still grinning.

“New to town?” she asked.

“Passing through,” Sam said. “Looking for some place to eat, and a place to stay for a while.”

“I’m Sheila.” Sheila thrust forward a hand that Sam shook, always caught off-guard by small-town friendliness however many times he’d encountered it.

“Sam,” he said.

“Pleasure.” She hitched her bag up on her shoulder. “For food, you have a fair selection, but that deli,” she indicated the store she’d just come from. “Cheap and fresh. Burt’s the best in town,” she whispered conspiratorially, and then wiggled her fingers drawing Sam’s attention to the ring on her finger. “I might be biased.” Sam laughed and her welcoming grin grew wider. “As far as a place to stay, there’s a few B&B’s.” Sam’s look must have let her know what he thought of that. Bed and Breakfasts were always comfortable and pleasant, but they offered restricted privacy, which was never good in Sam’s line of work, and they also cost more. “But something tells me you’d prefer the motel – 2400 Court Motel – which incidentally is also its address. Just down there,” she indicated a street that branched to the right, behind the large school he was parked in front of.

“Thanks a lot,” he said.

“Not a problem. It doesn’t take long to get oriented in a town like this, but every little bit helps. But I’ve got to run – have to swing by my mum’s before dinner. Nice to meet you!” She waved as she headed away.

Sam chose Burt’s deli, hoping Sheila’s fiancé would be as talkative and friendly as Sheila had been, and also that Burt had some idea of what might have drawn Sam to Fitchburg in the first place. As it was, though Burt was indeed talkative and friendly and more than willing to help, there didn’t seem to be anything strange happening there.

…………………………………….

2400 Court Motel was fairly large and actually a bit busy – for a town like Fitchburg, Sam supposed. He’d long since forgotten what a comfortable bed felt like – if he’d ever known – but this bed was at least less lumpy than most, and thankfully, there was no telling dip in the centre of the mattress.

Regardless of how peaceful the town seemed there were precautions that needed to be taken. The smell of salt had meant safety to Sam since the age of three where the habit of laying lines of it by doors and windows had begun to shift from merely a quirk and a tradition to an awareness of an attached purpose. Usually that was as far as Sam went, but he was on his own in an unfamiliar town, hunting something that he knew nothing about. For all Sam knew, salt wasn’t enough. He pulled his chalk pencil from his bag and set about marking protection sigils just in case, and only then did he allow himself to collapse onto the bed, savouring the quiet.

It didn’t last. “Bobby?” Sam asked as he flipped open his ringing phone.

“Did I wake ya?”

“No,” Sam lied, rubbing his eyes and sitting up. “My dad didn’t make you call, did he?”

Bobby’s low laugh crackled over the line. “He went by the Road House. Ellen made me call you. The way she was talking, it almost sounded like you up and joined the circus.”

Sam laughed. “Not quite. I just drove out to Fitchburg.”

“You got yourself a hunt.”

“Not exactly,” Sam said. There was a silence over the line, which meant that Bobby was waiting for him to elaborate but wasn’t going to push. “I just – I had to come here.”

“Ah,” Bobby said, and there was a dawning understanding in his voice. “Chasing a vision. No wonder you daddy’s got himself tied in knots.”

“He’s not coming out here, is he?”

“Not yet.” There was a pause. “Sam. I know it frustrates you, the way your daddy is, but you’ve got to understand … what with what happened …”

“I know, Bobby,” Sam said. “That’s the only reason why I haven’t up and left.”

“Seems to me that’s exactly what you’ve done.”

“This is different. He wants me to ignore what I see. And when we do follow the visions, he takes so many damned precautions that, more often than not, we’re there after most of the damage has been done. Suddenly, all my instincts are suspect, like I’m purposely – stupidly – running headlong into a trap. It’s like he thinks I’m a complete idiot.”

“No. He just wants you to be safe.”

“There is no safe, Bobby,” Sam argued. “These visions – they’re a part of me. The things I see … it’s been so damn hard to let it go, but I’ve tried.”

“Wanna tell me what’s changed?”

“I dunno,” Sam sighed. “It was a dream that I kept having, again and again, every night. And then I nearly drove off the road when it happened in the middle of the day when I was wide-awake, and it felt different. Every vision I’ve ever had, I never felt compelled. I mean I maybe wanted to save someone from getting hurt, or wanted to help or something – but this was like – I was desperate. I couldn’t breathe, all I could think was that I somehow had to get there and stop it, and it was so strong I couldn’t think straight, not until the vision finally ran its course.”

“You tell John about that?”

“I tried to – you know dad.”

“Of course I know John. Why do you think I threatened to blast him with a buck shot if I saw him again?” The comment was joking. Bobby had threatened exactly that – and at the time, had meant it – but he’d always been willing to help Sam out, and that meant a tentative truce with John Winchester, if only because the man was Sam’s father. It was a cautious peace, but Sam had learned to take what he could get. “What did you see?”

“That’s the thing. I didn’t see any creature – not a demon, not anything. It was just random shots, y’know? Like the sign for Fitchburg; certain buildings, hardwood floors and a rocket-ship bedspread. A man’s hand with a silver ring – and then this guy – young, couldn’t have been much older than me. He was just lying there, like he was sleeping. But, it looked unnatural.”

“That’s not much to go on.”

“Yeah, you’re not kidding. I’ve spoken with about a dozen different people and none of them know of anything odd around here. Not even so much as a supposedly haunted house or a creepy story.”

“You checked-out the landmarks you saw?”

“Nothing much, really, just the library and some random street corner on the edge of town. I mean, the bed spread suggests a kid, but I went by the school and everything seemed normal.”

“Well, you know what I’d suggest?”

“What?”

“Go find some teenagers. They know all the gossip and are always more than eager to dish it out. You need to find some kind of lead, and even if Fitchburg’s small, it’s still big enough that you can’t stand in the middle of the main street until you spot whoever that boy you saw in your vision. And even if you did, what are the chances he’d actually know anything?”

“Thanks, Bobby.”

“Not that it was much help. But listen, you be careful. Those visions of yours have gotten you into enough trouble already. You keep in touch, I want to know what the hell it is you’re huntin’.”

“You and me both. Bye, Bobby.” He flipped the phone closed and tossed it back onto the nightstand, flopping backwards onto the bed and trying to think of the best course of action. In his experience, Bobby had a point. Whether they were reliable sources or not, teenagers, especially the ones in small towns like this one, always knew some sort of story that they were more than willing to share. He checked his watch, enough time for a nap and a quick dinner, and then he’d go out and try to find where the kids in a place like this hung-out.

……………………………..

“Mrs. Falco – the chemistry teacher – total alien,” Rich said.

“Really,” Sam said, trying to contain a smirk.

“I saw her scales.”

“She was wearing alligator-skin boots,” Tony said, knocking Rich’s shoulder.

“Scales on her arms,” Rich corrected.

“Well, thanks for your help,” Sam said, standing from the table. He refused to be disheartened. Whatever it was that he had witnessed in his vision – obviously it hadn’t started yet, which meant that Sam could stop it. Still, it was frustrating to be hunting blind.

Anticipating an early start and not looking forward to black coffee, Sam went-up to the counter. “Pete’s Burgers,” the kid greeted, oily blond hair slicked back beneath a white paper hat that bore the title of the burger store in large orange print. “What can I get ya.”

“Two cartons of milk,” Sam requested, pulling his cash from his pocket. The kid nodded and retrieved Sam’s order, dropping both cartons onto the counter but not reaching for the money.

“You’ve been asking around – about weird things, right?” the kid asked.

Sam tensed his jaw and nodded. “Yeah, I have. You know something?”

“Not me,” the kid hastened to say. “But if you’re looking for something weird, you should speak to the Freak.”

Sam almost winced at the term. He’d been applying it to himself for a while, had heard it applied to him as well, by other hunters who were suspicious about the Winchester men and their uncanny success with whatever they hunted. Most hunters specified – Sam and his father never did – they’d never had to. Part of that had been Sam’s visions, but most of it was just because they were that good. “Freak?”

“You think I’m an asshole for saying it,” the kid said. “Well, you’ll be sayin’ it too if you spend even five minutes with him.”

“Does he have a name? Or an address?”

“He works up at The Wyvern. He’s the bartender there.”

Sam handed over the money for the milk and the kid slid the cartons forward. “Thanks,” Sam said.

……………………………………

It was getting late, but Sam kept driving around the damned streets, following various people’s directions in the hopes of stumbling on The Wyvern. He wasn’t exactly sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t the two-storey log building with the large red and gold sign. The place was tasteful if a bit rustic from the exterior, and when Sam pushed-open the blue swinging door he discovered that this was true of the interior as well.

The Wyvern was part restaurant and part bar. It was casual and comfortable; apparently it was a good place to relax. Sam bypassed the restaurant area – mostly empty at this time of night – and entered the bar. If the burger joint had been the place to go to find teenager, the Wyvern was the place to find everyone else. A group of twenty-something were occupying a corner booth, their laughter filling the quiet pub as they played some variation of a drinking game. Some older men were seated by the bar, nursing pints but looking more content than anything else – no one was really trying to drown their sorrows, it looked like a place to be social more than anything else.

Sam couldn’t exactly pull someone aside and ask which one The Freak was, so he headed over to the bar and slid onto a stool, fishing in his jacket pocket to make sure he had the money to accommodate any drinking he might do. “What can I get ya?”

“Uhm,” Sam said. “Just a beer.”

“No preference?”

Sam looked-up at the bartender, the man that the kid at the burger place had assured him was a freak, and held his breath. “It’s you,” he said, somewhat startled to find himself looking into the exact face he had seen in his vision, although then the eyes had been closed and Sam hadn’t experienced the full hazel gaze. The bartender raised his eyebrows. “Uh,” Sam said. “Sorry. No, just – whatever’s on tap.” He watched as the man moved away, black dress pants hanging perfectly off a well-built frame. He wore his white shirt with the top-button open allowing a sinful peak at his throat where a black leather cord hung, and the sleeves rolled-up to just below the elbow. Sam chewed his lip and then dragged his eyes away hastily when the bartender turned back carrying Sam’s drink. He slid the pint across to Sam with a cocky grin, plucking the money from Sam’s fist and making quick change before he shuffled to the other end of the bar where a black-haired woman with blue eyes was leaning forward, flapping her hands.

Sam nursed his drink, watching inconspicuously as the girl spoke with the bartender – the very good looking bartender who was also the man in Sam’s vision, and also, apparently, the Freak. He couldn’t help but notice that despite the relaxed atmosphere in the bar, no one was really talking with the bartender – which was strange, because in all the small-town bars Sam had been to, there was always at least one chatty customer. Then again, if the man had earned himself a nickname like ‘Freak’, maybe the bar regulars tolerated the bartender but also maybe feared him, although, it didn’t look like that woman was afraid.

It wasn’t jealousy, not really. Sam night have been bi-sexual, but he also knew that not every attractive guy he saw and wanted was necessarily gay, or bi, or available. He assured himself that this was likely a very good thing. Maybe the bartender and that woman had a kid, and that was what that bedspread had been all about. If that were the case, then all Sam had to do was keep an eye on the kid and make sure his or her attractive father didn’t step in the way of something dark and nasty in a futile attempt at protection. Simple. Easy.

“Yeah, right,” Sam muttered as he finished the last of his pint. He dropped a twenty on the counter and made his way out of the bar.

………………………………..

At around three o’clock in the morning, the bartender whose name Sam had yet to actually garner, left the Wyvern, along with the same young woman who had been talking with him earlier. Sam watched as she started-up the beat-up green civic as the bartender slid into the passenger seat, and slammed the door shut.

Anyone else, and Sam would have been pulling-out and following. The impala wasn’t exactly great for stealth, but people were rarely expecting to be followed, and even then, it wasn’t like Sam was entirely blatant. But there had been something in those hazel eyes in those brief seconds when he had looked into them – something cautious and entirely too knowing. So instead, Sam watched the car drive-out and after waiting an appropriate amount of time, pulled-out after. With the streets as empty as they were, it was a simple thing to follow close-enough to see where they were headed, but far enough back to be nothing more than a distant set of headlights.

The civic pulled to the curb by a little yellow house with blue shutters, and the bartender slid-out of the passenger seat, throwing a casual wave over his shoulder as he climbed the steps. Sam had no idea how to proceed.

----------------------------
End Chapter One: