Forever's Not Enough
Disclaimer: Don't own any of them (I know, it's so sad). No, wait! I own Karl and Nick.
Author's Note: It's been done by others, I thought I'd give it a shot. So, Sam and Dean aren't related, but both of them lost their mother's to the Demon. Sam's father (not John) just happened to deal with it in a different way to John. Dean and John follow the basic Supernatural storyline; they're both still hunters.
However, Dean will seem a little out of character, due to the fact that, without Sam, he never had to look out for the extra someone growing up. He was basically raised to look out for himself and no one else.
Sam is definitely going to be out of character, because he's been raised by a controlling father who wants him to become a lawyer. Sam's rebelling, in the opposite direction to the one he took in the show. He's as far from the Sam in the show as I could get him without turning him evil.
And no, this is not going to be a re-work of the series (even if it may look that way in the beginning). I just happened to start it where the series started because… it was convenient, or something like that.
Finally, I'd like to thank the author who helped me decide which of my SamDean fanfics to write, without whom I would not have been able to get started on this fanfic. She's not been named in case she'd rather remain anonymous. You know who you are.
Feedback: Is welcome, unless you're flaming. If you're flaming, you're not welcome and you're wasting your own time more then anything else (not to mention insulting me just because you don't like what I'm writing).
Warnings: There is going to be SamDean slash, though not wincest. Sam's majorly out of character. That's about all I think.
Prologue: New In Town
Someone was shaking him awake. They weren't exactly being gentle.
Dean Winchester opened his eyes, glaring up at whoever had dared interrupt his sleep, and almost jumped out of his bed when saw who was standing over him.
"Dad!" He yelped out. It hadn't been meant to sound so squeaky, but that's happened when his father caught him by surprise in the middle of a rather erotic dream (and that happened a lot more then one would think); he always thought his father somehow knew what he was dreaming.
"You were expecting someone else?" John Winchester asked.
"Well…" Dean began, but then saw the look on his father's face. "… No, no one, actually." He said, swinging his legs off the bed and coming to a sitting position. With a yawn, he reached down to retrieve his shirt, which he'd dropped there the night before. "What are you even still doing here? Don't you have a job you need to get to?"
"Yeah, up at Jericho." John said, moving away from his son, over to the table where their laptop sat.
"Right, those missing guys." Dean said, pulling on his jeans now. "You sure you don't need a hand?" he asked, almost hopefully.
"Yeah, I'm sure." John said with a chuckle, knowing how eager Dean was to get out of his own job. Of course, there was no way in hell that he was going to. "Besides, if you help me, who'll help all those poor, innocent people in St. Louis?" he asked.
"Dad, those poor innocent people should get the cops to look into it." Dean said. There had been a few murders in St. Louis, but they hadn't caught John's attention until one of the supposed murderer's had turned up with a solid alibi for being in one place, when a security camera clearly placed him at the scene of the crime. Despite the fact that John thought of that was evidence enough that it was there kind of job, Dean still thought it would be a waste of time, especially when he could be helping his father find out what could be causing the disappearances of all those young men. But then, when it came to a hunt…
"… there's no such thing as a waste of time." John finished, having just given Dean yet another lecture about the importance of each and every hunt, even if it turned out to be bogus. He was never sure if his son actually listened to the lectures, but at the very least Dean pretended to be interested.
"Okay, fine, you've convinced me," Dean said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. John chuckled, before turning to the laptop to check for any articles on any new disappearances. "Just promise me I can come and help you as soon as I'm done." He said, an eager look in his eyes, one John could never say no to.
"Okay, if you deal with whatever's behind these murders, as you seem to think you so easily will, then, and only then, may you join me at Jericho to deal with whatever's causing trouble there." His voice was an attempt at stern. His face clearly showed how proud of his son he was, spoiling any chance of being stern with Dean, who simply grinned at his father.
"On that note, shouldn't you be gone already?" Dean asked.
"Yeah, I just wanted to make sure you were in St. Louis and hard at work before I left, so I can make sure you don't follow me."
"Follow you? I'm wounded. Don't you trust me?" Dean asked, pretending to be hurt.
"Not since I gave you that car, no." John said conversationally. Now it was Dean's turned to chuckle. "Now get gone already, I'd like to get a head start on the day." Dean glanced over at the clock on the bedside table of their motel room. A little five-thirty in the a.m., definitely plenty of time for his father to get a 'head start on the day'. Dean, however, was eager to get this hunt over with so he could join his father.
"Okay, leaving now." He said, grabbing his duffle bag in one hand and sling it over his shoulder, using the other hand to grab the knife from under his pillow.
"Hey, Dean," John said just as his son reached the door. Dean turned back around to face his father. "Try not to get into too much trouble."
"Don't I always?" Dean asked with a shrug and a smile, holding out his hands, the knife still in one of them. John gave a half-hearted laugh.
"I'll ignore that," he said promptly after the laugh ended, knowing full-well that the first thing Dean would do was go in search of trouble. Most likely involving a girl who had had a little too much to drink.
Another shrug, and Dean was gone, closing the door behind him. Shaking his head, John turned back to the laptop, no longer needing to pretend.
"Now, how do I get this infernal machine to work," he muttered, hitting one of the buttons in the hopes it would turn on.
Dean searched through the bag he had foolishly left in the trunk of his '67 Chevy Impala the night before. He'd grabbed the supplies bag and that was about it, having been out late the previous night dealing with a nasty little imp who couldn't keep his hands to himself (yes, the human variety, not the supernatural kind).
Finally finding what he was so desperately looking for, he pulled it out, put it on the roof of his get, closed the bag, and put it back in the trunk with his other bag, and pulling the trunk closed. He then grabbed his leather jacket off the roof of the car and pulled it on over his shirt to keep out the chill of the early morning. Then he walked around to the driver's door of the car and climbed in, pulling the door closed and starting the car up.
The motel they'd been staying at the last couple of nights was about half an hour out of St. Louis, and they'd stayed there specifically so John could persuade Dean to take the job here and not the voodoo thing he so desperately would have preferred. John had decided that a demon framing an innocent person for murder could be a lot more agreeable then nut-jobs dabbling in olden-day magic, as the last time they'd tangled with some voodoo, Dean had ended up under the control of the voodoo priest and almost killed both himself and John. John was obviously not going to let him do a voodoo job on his own any time soon.
So he was stuck here, in St. Louis, probably with a non-existent case while his father went off to deal with a real threat. Needless to say, Dean was not pleased with his life right now.
But with AC/DC blaring in his ears and a more-or-less empty road ahead of him, Dean felt his mood begin to pick up as he drove towards St. Louis, intending to find a nice quiet motel where he could sleep away the day (late nights, he could handle; early mornings, not so much, and it often took a day to recover if the two followed each other directly).
Luck, for once, was on his side, and he drove into the parking lot of a motel. It was about twenty-to-six, but judging from the light on in the front office, it was already (or still?) open. He just getting out of the car when the door to the main office opened and four people staggered out (though the incoherent shouts from behind them gave Dean the idea that they were being thrown out). The first two were nothing special, average height, average build, all around average. The two behind them caught Dean's eye. The first was a girl with wavy blonde hair, wearing form-fitting black pants and a black halter top. Her companion stood somewhere close six-foot-four, with unruly dark brown hair and bright hazel eyes, wearing a black coat, dark grey shirt, and black leather trousers. And, oh yeah, he was a guy. Not the first guy Dean had met that caught his attention this way, but it didn't happen often enough that it didn't surprise him every time he realized he found some guys as attractive as most girls. In this case, he wouldn't mind doing both of…
He shook his head, trying to rid himself of those thoughts. Right now, he had bigger fish to fry. Besides, all four of them were obviously drunk, and Dean tried to avoid people he himself hadn't gotten drunk, because most of the time they were just trying to get back the money he'd just hustled out of them from a game of pool.
So, ignoring the unruly bunch as they staggered past him, Dean walked up to the door and stepped in.
"I told you twice already, we are not open to-" The woman looked up and stopped when she saw Dean standing in the doorway, looking a little surprised. "Oh, I'm sorry. I've had a bad…" She glanced at the clock. "Week." She finished. "Can I help you?"
"Yeah, I was hoping I could get a room." Dean said.
"Sure can," the woman said. "Will that be cash or credit?"
"Uh… credit." Dean said opening his wallet and taking out one of the many fake credit cards he'd obtained. He handed it to the woman, and then glanced back over his shoulder without really wanting to, looking out the window at the group of youths who were all leaning against a car Dean couldn't quite make out in the early morning light.
"You know those four?" the woman asked. He looked over and saw she was holding out the card. He took it back, and shook his head.
"No, I only just got into town." He said.
"Ah. In that case, I'd avoid them like the plague if I were you."
"Because they're trouble." Was all the woman would see. She hand Dean a key. "Room seven's yours." She said. "Enjoy your stay." Dean took that as a dismissal (he'd been given enough of them from his father to recognize one when he heard it), and left the office in search of room seven.
It wasn't that hard. Just as he was reaching the door, he glanced over his shoulder to take one final look at the four youths, if they could be called that. The oldest-looking, the guy that had caught Dean's attention, was in his early twenties, no older then twenty-two, Dean guessed. The other three seemed to be around the same, except for one of the other guys, who might've been twenty-five. No big age difference, but there was something about him Dean didn't really like. Then again, the same could be said for just about every person Dean met that didn't have really distracting breasts. It normally had nothing to do with the other person actually; Dean just wasn't an easy person to get along with. That happens if your best friend growing up is a handgun and the only person you say more then a couple of words to, other then your dad, is your teacher when he asks you a question.
Okay, so Dean hadn't had the ideal childhood. But if given the choice to start again, he'd do it exactly the same, because it was what he loved. It was more then just a job for him; in his mind, it was what he'd been born to be.
He turned back to the door, unlocking it and entering the room. He'd get his stuff from the car later, like tonight. Right now, all he really felt like doing was sleep.
So he stripped down to his boxers, and climbed into bed, asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.
Sam opened his eyes, and almost whimpered as the sunlight directly assaulted them. Holding his hand up to shield his face, he looked around himself to try and make sense of where he was.
"Guys? Anyone else conscious?" he asked, sitting up. "Or even alive?" it wouldn't be the first time one or more of them had almost drank him-(or her)-self to death. A faint groan came from his left, and he looked down to see his girlfriend lying next to him, her blonde hair catching the sunlight like a bright golden halo.
"Karl? Nick? Either of your two… coherent?" he asked, squinting around. One of said friends was slumped up against the swing set (oh, great; they'd passed out outside), clearly still unconscious. In the morning glare, Sam couldn't quite tell if it was Karl or Nick. He continued looking and deduced that Karl was the one at the swings because Nick was passed out next to Jessica. Looking a little too close for Sam's comfort.
"Up!" He shouted. Then he groaned, putting his head in his hands. Note to self: never raise your voice again.
"Wha-?" Nick groaned as he opened his eyes, one hand going to his head to try and quell the splitting headache Sam had just created, and the other coming up to shield them from the sunlight. "Have you no respect for the dead, man?" he asked.
"No." Sam said simply. "If you want respect, talk to the cadaver." He pointed over at Karl. Nick propped himself up on his elbows, looking over at their friend. "What's up with you getting cute with my girlfriend?" Sam asked, doing his best to glare at his best friend. He didn't do very well; his eyes couldn't really get past the squint he needed right now to try and keep out the sunlight. Why, oh why were they outside?
Nick was looking down at Jessica, who was snuggled up against him, much to Sam's distress. He gave Sam one of those cocky grins that Sam hated so much, "I guess I got lucky last night." He said with a shrug. Then, "Oh, bad idea." The small movement had sent his head spinning.
"If I was sure it wouldn't hurt me more then you, I'd see that that wasn't the only pain you were feeling now." Sam said. He reached down ad pulled Jessica over to him, holding her possessively.
"Sammy?" she whispered, her eyes opening to narrowed slits; of the four of them, Jessica was the only one with any real common sense after a long night of drinks, fist-fights, and flirting. Of course, common sense went out the window, in Sam's opinion, when you woke up and found your girlfriend getting comfy with your best friend.
"Right here, baby." He said, planting a kiss on her forehead. "You wanna tell me if something's going on with you and Nicky or do I just need to find myself a mistress?" he asked. She smiled up at him and put her arms around his neck.
"Yeah, that's right." She said. "Nicky and I, we're hopelessly, deeply in love with each other."
"We're getting married."
"Thanks for the warning."
"I'm gonna vomit."
"No, really, I'm gonna vomit." Sam had a rather sickly look on his face, and without much warning other then what he'd just said, he suddenly rolled over, letting go of Jessica in the process, and proceeded to puke his innards out. Or, that's what it felt like anyway.
"Where'd we end up last night?" Nick asked, sitting all the way up as Sam continued to empty out his stomach onto the grass. "Please, continue, you can answer when your down." Jess smiled up at him, looking over at Sam.
"You okay over there?" she asked, a look of concern on her face.
"I'll live." Sam got out. "Probably." Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he turned back around to them. "Remind me why we do this to ourselves every other day." He said.
"Mostly just because we can," Jess said, also sitting up now. "Also, our parents don't like it."
"We're over twenty-one- barely- what do our parents have to do with it?" he asked.
"Well, since we're all still living with them…" Jess trailed off. Sam smiled suddenly, reaching over and pulling her into his arms. She tried to pull away as he tried to kiss her. "Ew, no, you have vomit breath, get away from me." She whined. Anything else she said was cut off when his lips touched hers. A few seconds later, her arms were wrapped around his neck and she was kissing him with as much passion and ferocity as he was her, actually pushing him down so he was lying flat on the grass, holding his hands either side of his head as she rubbed her body against his (well, their clothes anyway), their tongues caught in a duel for superiority as they continued to kiss each other.
"Um… guys…" Nick sat and watched them for a minute (it wasn't like he enjoyed watching Sam being overpowered by his girlfriend- honest, it wasn't), but soon became bored. "Guys, single guy over here, you're making me jealous."
Jess broke the kiss, but didn't get off Sam. In fact, she didn't even look away from her boyfriend as she spoke to Nick, "You could always go over and have some fun with Karl; he's in no position to complain."
"Ha-ha, very funny," Nick replied. Boyfriend and girlfriend both looked over at him, and Sam gave him a guilty smile, clearly enjoying his make out session with Jess but feeling bad about leaving his friend with nothing to do. Except that really wasn't like Sam, which was probably why the smile didn't look sincere. In fact, Sam's idea of fun was tying Nick down and then making out with Jess in front of him. And, on one occasion, on top of him.
Karl always seemed to be nowhere around when Sam got in that mood, which was why Nick had come to resent the other man. For that matter, Karl hadn't been around much at all lately. The two years age difference between the three high school drop-outs and their street-smart friend seemed to have become ten years over the last couple of months, and he'd been spending less and less time with them. That was one of the reasons Sam had been so insistent about the party they'd gone to last night (even if the details of said party were sketchy at best right now); he'd wanted their gang back together, at least for one night.
"How many do you think he had?" Jess asked, nodding towards Karl. He appeared to be alright, minus the fact that he was still unconscious.
"Dunno… I had…" Sam stopped for a minute, counting them off in his head. "Ten… or twelve." He smiled. Jess rolled her eyes. "Nicky?"
"Nine." Nick responded.
"Jess?" Sam asked, turning to his girlfriend.
"Eleven." She said with a smile. "Hey, Kar-ar-argh." All three of them groaned. Up until then, they'd all been talking in loud whispers, but Jess had made the mistake of raising her voice, and now the headaches they'd been trying to suppress were back, with friends.
"Nicky, wake him up." Sam ordered. Nick gave him a 'why me?' look, but Sam just nodded towards Karl insistently, and, grumbling incoherently under his breath, Nick turned around and crawled over to where the older man was lying.
"Karl." He said softly, poking him in the chest. A couple of seconds of no response, and he turned around, crawling back to Sam and Jess, who were both staring at him. "I tried." He said with a shrug. They kept staring at him.
"That was trying?" Sam asked. He sighed, looking over at Karl. "Okay, come on, let's see if we can get him back to…" He trailed off, suddenly looking around. "Guys, where's his car?" The other two looked around as well, but saw no sign of the black Jeep Cherokee that Karl drove.
"Shit," Nick said simply, as all three of them realized they had no idea where they'd left the car the night before.
A/N: I know, I'm crazy for doing this (three stories at once, even with one of them almost done, is just insane for me), but this one just flowed out of me once I started. Once Eye of the Storm is finished, I'm not sure which of the two remaining ones will be focused on more.
So, no real interaction between Sam and Dean in this chapter. I just thought I'd introduce them here (so you could see what they're like), and Dean did catch a glimpse of Sam on the way into the office, so that's something, right?
If anyone finds mention of a spirit and cars anywhere, let me know. That was the original reason for Dean going to St. Louis, but then I thought it would be better to just bring the shapeshifter into it, since, as Dean said in the show 'Who knows how many murder's this thing's gotten away with'. He could've been there for months, possibly even while Sam was still at Stanford. So yeah, I'm hoping I replaced all the information, but I'm not positive.
Also, John might have seemed… happier, then he did in the show. I just figured, without Sam to argue with all the time, it would've been easier for him to get by.
Hope ya'll enjoyed this. As I said at the beginning, if they're out of character, it's intentional, so no apologies needed for once. Please review, it would be appreciated. Until next time, Cyas.