Chapter Text
January 3rd, 2006
Soot and ash covered Sam's face, a dark shadow that contrasted harshly against the red and blue flashing lights. He was only vaguely aware of the paramedic carefully bandaging his stinging arms, his mind long since dissociated.
It was hard to come to terms with the fact that he almost died tonight. And that Jess...
Jessica was gone.
Murdered in the same horrific fashion that his mother had been, pinned and set ablaze on the ceiling.
God.
It had only been a few days since he had proposed, on a bridge underneath the New Year fireworks. It had been magical.
She had been so happy.
Sam had been happy.
But now?
~
The police blamed it on a faulty wire.
Because of course they did...
The officer stood before him, listing off the official report, drawling in a dull tone that faded into the background of Sam's mind whilst he sat in his hospital bed, his body tingling with rage.
Something had gone wrong with the heater in the main bedroom. It sparked while Jessica slept, turning their room into a flaming wall of smoke and heat, just as Sam was returning from a night class.
Jess wouldn't have even stirred, shouldn't have even felt a thing. The smoke would have gotten her first.
But Sam knew better.
Because Jess hadn't been sleeping peacefully on their bed when he walked into their room.
She had been awake.
She had been looking down at him, as their life burned down around them, her belly slashed open and dripping blood through her nightgown.
Sam eyed his phone once the officer had left. It lay innocently on the table beside him, singed and partly melted but still usable. After a moment of deliberation, he reached over and picked it up, scrolling through his contacts.
It had been well over three years since he had spoken to his brother, but something deep inside him told him to make the call. If there was anyone in the world who had his back, regardless of how turbulent their last meeting had been, it would be Dean.
Trembling, Sam raised his gauze-wrapped hand to his ear and listened to the ringing tone.
"Sam?"
In that moment, Sam stilled, the anger in his heart igniting for another reason. The owner of the voice on the other end was a wholly unwelcome surprise.
"Dad..."
"Yeah, it's me," John stated, his voice coming out quieter than Sam had ever remembered. "It's… It's good to hear your voice, Sam… Haven't heard it in a long while."
That was… unexpected.
Sam closed his eyes briefly, silently debating whether or not continuing this conversation was worth the explosive outcome that typically followed their interaction. After a slow breath to steady himself, he continued.
"It's back, Dad."
"What are you talking about?"
"Yellow Eyes..." Sam whispered, his eyes stinging as he verbalised the one fact that he was still struggling to come to terms with. "It's ah... it came back. It's killed Jess."
"Who?"
"My... my girl. My fiancée. Dad, it put her on the ceiling. It burned her alive. Same as mum."
"Oh God, Sam," John exhaled.
Sam closed his eyes and removed the phone from his ear, clutching it to his forehead in an attempt to control the hot tears that spilled from his eyes.
"I'm sorry kiddo," John whispered. Sam raised the phone back to his ear, trying to hear his father's words. "Where are you right now? Still in California?"
"Ah, yeah. I'm at the hospital. Stanford Hospital."
"Ok... Ok, I can be there in a few hours," John stated, the sounds of quick rifling came through Sam's speaker as John packed his meagre possessions into a bag.
~
True to his word, John Winchester entered Sam's room, only four hours after his call. The man looked worn, haggard in a way that Sam had never seen before. His clothes fell off him awkwardly, a size too big. His face was scruffy and his hair was slightly dishevelled.
Sam sat in his bed, his back straight and his face blank, the crisp white sheets tight over his legs.
John approached him slowly like he was walking up to a startled animal. As if he expected Sam to rage at him or run.
"Hi, Son," he whispered, placing a cautious hand on Sam's shoulder.
"Hey, Dad," Sam greeted, his tone dead and dull. He looked behind John and he felt his face fall further when no one else followed. "Where the hell is Dean? Was my near-death not enough to pull him away from the bar?"
Sam's voice was bitter and biting, even to his ears and he internally winced.
God only knew how much he was gonna need his family if he was actually going to get his revenge, rocking the boat and starting yet another fight before he even had a foothold in this hunt was foolish. It wouldn't have been the first time that Dad left Dean on a hunt by himself.
Unlike with Sam, John was always confident in Dean's training, often leaving Sam's older brother in charge of hunts, even as a young teenager. Hunts that Sam knew he wouldn't be allowed on even at his current age.
Dean was obviously still working on the case that the two were on. His father wouldn't have left it unsolved if Dean could handle it.
"He's ah… I don't…" John started before sighing. He took a deep breath to steel himself. "Dean's gone, Sammy."
"What?"
If Sam had felt the fire of rage, the fire of revenge, burning inside him during the days past, then what fell over him could only have been described as an arctic chill.
"He's... he's not dead. If that's what you are thinking. At least, I don't think so," John said, sitting down on the edge of Sam's bed, his shoulders hunching over uncomfortably. "But... yeah. He's been gone for a while."
"Isn't that the same as being dead?" Sam questioned quietly. His hands trembled again as a rush of grief flooded through him. Hunters don't just go missing, not in their line of work. You either get out or get dead.
"I got a call from Bobby, around mid-July last year," John said, looking at the wall, his gaze haunted. "He found the Impala parked out back amongst the wrecks. The keys were sitting on the front seat, with all Dean's credit cards, phones and weapons. Looks like he stashed the car and high-tailed it outta there."
Dean loved that car. Sometimes, thought Sam, even more than his own life.
"And Dean? He's just... what? gone?" Sam demanded, growing angrier and more frustrated by the second. "Why didn't you come get me? I could have been looking for him! Since July? That was 6 months ago! Holy crap, Dad! Did you even look for him?"
The familiar flush of anger coloured John's face as he stood up and glared down at his son, his veins bulging on his forehead.
"Of course I've looked for him!"
The door opened and a nurse peeked her head in.
"Family visiting hours end in five minutes, Mr. Winchester," she reminded them in a calm, no nonsense tone.
"Thanks," John muttered, straightening up and smoothing his wrinkled shirt. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself, making Sam acutely aware of the dark shadows that sat deep under his eyes.
The nurse left quickly, leaving the two alone once again.
"I've been trying Sam. He's just gone, I can't explain it," John stated in a marginally calmer tone. "I've even contacted the other hunters, the police, I've got hits out for any corpses and John Doe's found matching his description in nearly every goddamn hospital in this country. It's like he's vanished off the face of the earth."
"What do you think happened to him?" Sam queried quietly as he fidgeted with the discoloured and bloody bandage covering his hands.
"I don't know. But I have a feeling it's related to what happened to you this week," John remarked. He held out his hand and pulled Sam out of bed and into a stand. "If we can find Yellow Eyes, we’ll probably find out what happened to your brother."