|Illusions and Memories, Part 1, Supernatural, Sam/Dean, Rated PG
||[Jan. 6th, 2007|10:21 am]
Fanfiction; It's like a drug-addiction
Title: Illusions and Memories (Part 1/?)
Pairing/Characters: Sam Winchester, eventual flashbacks of Dean/Sam
Notes: Takes place several years after the current series.
Disclaimers: Supernatural and its characters are not mine.
Summary: A lonely Sam thinks about his brother, Dean, who died a few years earlier. He gets slightly obsessed about seeing people who remind him of Dean.
Illusions and Memories, Part 1
Sam thought he saw him again today. Thought he saw Dean walking up the street towards the downtown section of this crazy town he was in. Just a glimpse. The way he walked, the way his shoulders curved a certain way. But it wasn’t him, of course. Sam’s brother had been dead for six years. Gone in a fiery crash that Sam had witnessed himself.
But on days like today, when loneliness was a sharp pain in his chest, he would take a walk in whatever town or city he was in and, occasionally, he would see someone who reminded him of Dean in some way. For those few seconds he could pretend that his big brother wasn’t gone, that he was here, alive and breathing. Then Sam, being the hunter he was raised to be, would follow the person, getting just close enough that he could prove to himself that it wasn’t Dean and whatever similarity he thought he had seen didn’t really exist.
Today, however, the phantom Dean was proving to be more elusive. No matter how quickly Sam walked, he couldn’t quite catch up or get a good enough look to prove to his aching heart that it was not his brother he followed. When he turned another corner, his prey had disappeared completely. Where was he? Had he gone into one of the old buildings that lined the streets in this part of town? Into the big, old sagging hotel that had once boasted of being the most expensive, comfortable, and luxurious place to spend your nights at?
Sam stood in the middle of the busy sidewalk, took a deep breath. It really was ridiculous that with his psychic abilities he was no more able than any other person who walked down this sidewalk to find one lone man who had been in his sight less than 30 seconds ago. He hadn’t been following close enough and that’s why he lost him. But that was part of the game, to prolong the pretence of his brother being alive.
However, Sam had never completely lost his prey before and he stood uncertain in the cool fall air. Should he keep looking? His mind insisted he should write it off as another little bit of wasted time in what was turning out to be a lifetime of wasted time, chances and opportunities. Reluctantly, he turned to make his way back to his own hotel, located in the beginnings of the more modern section of the old city.
By the time Sam had walked the several long blocks back to the hotel, the sun was going down, leaving a mixture of lights and shadows dancing across the walls of his room. The work that had brought him to this city was almost done. One more meeting in the morning and he would be free to leave. He was not dissatisfied with the work he did. His mind embraced the regularity of it.
Still though, at times he missed the freedom of not being tied to things or a certain place. He had a place he called home. It was with some dismay that he had finally admitted to himself that, although he labeled it home, it was not his real home and could never be. His real home was gone. Gone with his father who had sacrificed his life so that his sons would have a chance at living and, especially, gone with his brother who he had finally realized was everything to him. The normal life that he had dreamed of had become a reality but now, when he had it all in his hands, it meant very little.
Oh, he had things he enjoyed. He had friends. Places to go, things to do. A nice house, nice car, a dog. He wondered if Dean would laugh if he could see him taking some big mutt of a dog for a walk and trying to persuade him not to pee on the flowers in the yard next door. Hell, he even had houseplants. Well-watered and lacking for nothing including a babysitter who tended them and the dog conscientiously during the times Sam had to be away.
He had thought he would have a wife by now. Maybe a couple of kids. He met a lot of beautiful women, through work, through well-meaning friends. Nice women. Marriage material. He’d been engaged for almost six months one time but the woman had broken it off, telling him there was a cold spot in him that she didn’t think she could reach or live with. He’d thought about telling her that it wasn’t a cold spot at all, just an empty spot where his family had once lived. But he couldn’t tell her that because then he might would have to explain about his lost family, his big brother with the mercurial green eyes and smirky smile whose idea of a good time was to hunt werewolves and other creepy crawly things of the night, and he didn’t do that for anyone. So she was gone too although he received emails from her occasionally, wishing him well and no hard feelings.
Sam stretched out on the queen-sized bed. It wasn’t bad. And he was an expert on beds. He once tried to figure out exactly how many different beds he had slept in. The number that he came up with was so ridiculous he decided it must be a mistake and why was he spending his time on something so trivial anyhow. He thought of the city he was currently visiting. He had never been here before. Had never even been in this area of this particular state before. Which was surprising considering how much they had been on the road during his childhood and then when he had joined up with Dean again after Jessica’s death to pursue the demon that had destroyed her as he had their mother when Sam was a baby.
Dean used to joke that the only states they hadn’t hunted in were Alaska and Hawaii. He had said he thought he could do without Alaska but he would like to see Hawaii if he didn’t have to leave the Impala behind or get on a plane to get there. Sam tried to remember if they had actually been in all of the other forty-eight states but was unhappy to find that many places had blurred in his mind and he couldn’t be sure just where he had been.
Dean’s face was starting to blur in his mind also and that was pure agony. He didn’t even have a picture of him anymore. The pictures and the few little mementos Sam had had of his family were gone when thieves had stolen the little lockbox they were in along with his entertainment system and computer over three years ago. Sometimes at night, when he lay very still and quiet in his bed, he could gradually piece together Dad’s face and his mother’s, though he had seen her only one time when she had saved him and Dean from a poltergeist in their old house in Lawrence, Kansas.
Dean was more complicated, like a puzzle that had a thousand pieces instead of just a hundred, and Sam always fell asleep before it was completed. He had one of Dean’s old shirts, soft mossy green with a missing button halfway down the front and one missing from the left cuff. He wore it when he was by himself, feeling comforted by the smell that was uniquely Dean. Until one day he realized that it had faded away, leaving nothing but Sam’s own smell. But it still hung in the closet because it had been his.
Sam turned over on his right side to stare out of the hotel room window. It was dark outside, streetlights and funny orange lights on some of the buildings already turned on. How long had he been lost in his thoughts? His mind turned again to the man he had followed along the old streets. Where was he now? Home with his family, eating dinner? Having a quick drink with a friend at one of the little bars tucked here and there in corners of the old city? What kind of man was he? Did it matter? It shouldn’t. He was nothing to Sam and Sam was nothing to him. He was a stranger who happened to have a little something that was a reminder of someone gone forever.
Sam sighed, got up off the bed, and decided to do the sensible thing and go downstairs and ask the nice, older woman at the desk where would be a good place to eat. As he got onto the elevator, Sam wondered if the man was often in the part of the city where Sam had seen him. Would he be passing that way again tomorrow? It really couldn’t matter, could it, except that Sam had never let someone, who had caught his eye because of their passing resemblance to Dean Winchester, get away before. His mind calculated how much time he might have tomorrow, between his meeting and when he needed to be at the airport, that he could go back and look. Just to be sure.
To be continued...