your happiness is my happiness. - SPN Fic - "Waving Flags" (Gen, Sam POV)

Title: "Waving Flags"
Author: uhzoomzip
Summary: Gen. Written for spnmysteryyears Challenge #4, Prompt #6: Dean sends Sam random text messages and voicemails thinking that Sam is at Stanford, however, not only is Sam not returning them, he's also struggling. As he sleeps on the floors of people he's only just begun to call friends while trying to find a job and somewhere to live, Dean's messages bolster him and encourage him to keep going when all he really wants to do is ask to be picked up.
Rating: PG


***

Sammy! What a pussy message that is. Stanford's got a med school, right? Maybe they could help you with that stick you've got up your ass. Anyway, just checking in to make sure you got there safe and sound and weren't molested by any old ladies on the bus. You’ve got your rape whistle, right? Call me back, bro. Later.

***

It isn't what he had expected, that's for sure. His family may have been a little crazy, but they had taught him the art of fitting in when you really don't belong. Trouble was, how were you supposed to do it day in and day out, for the rest of your life? Especially when you had seen the things Sam Winchester had seen in his lifetime?

He tries not to, but finds himself up in the middle of his first night, spreading salt across the doorway and window while his roommate snores softly. He woke the next morning to a bleary What the fuck, Winchester? Word spreads quickly after that. Try as he might, he's never fitting in amongst the ranks of privileged kids there on their parents' dime and influence.

He hangs in for six weeks before packing his belongings in one large duffel bag and walking towards the registrar's office. Two hours later, he hops a bus for San Francisco and tries to figure out what the hell he's going to do next.

He never does go back to Palo Alto .

***

Well, it's been over a month, so I guess you've been too busy settling in and studying and doing whatever it is you geekboys do at fancy universities to give your big brother a call. Or maybe you finally used those puppy dog eyes on a nice girl who took pity on you and popped your cherry - Stanford's a breeding ground for philanthropists, right? I bet if you told her the sad tale of a childhood without a mother, she'd let you nail her five times a day. And man, if you haven't lost it by now, I'm signing you up for a subscription to Redbook, I swear to God.

***

He finds a sad-looking hostel in the Mission district and manages to negotiate a free bed in a dorm of 12 in exchange for cleaning. It’s not ideal, but it’s a bed and he loads up each morning on the free toast and coffee. He’s cleaned his share of toilets – he was John Winchester’s son, after all – and he works quickly and efficiently. He spends his days putting in job applications at restaurants, retail stores, day labor agencies. He’s not picky; anything will do.

The thing that really strikes him is that it's not all that different from how he grew up. He thinks of his father, living out of a duffel bag, always on the move with two kids in tow, lying/cheating/stealing to finance his existence. Now, motel rooms are now a luxury he can't really afford. And he's all alone.

You fought so hard to get away, yet here you are.

He guesses you really can't fight fate.

***

Well, I guess you're still pissed at me, little brother. Bet you've got that Sammy bitchface going full force as you're listening to this. Oh, excuse me, it's Sam now, isn't it? Guess you were serious about getting out, starting a new life, cutting all your ties, huh? Well, fuck that - I'm still your brother, whether you're ignoring me or not.

Dad and I are heading up north for a job and I don't think my phone works in Canada, so if you need something, call Jim.

Not like you'd call me anyway, right?

Fuck you, Sam.

***

He gets a job at a coffee shop in SoMa, and it's not bad, making lattes and espressos for young professionals. Then one day, she walks in the door. She's beautiful and friendly, blond ringlets cascading across her shoulders as she laughs at his dumb jokes, and all he can think about is asking her out. It takes him three stumbling tries to finally get the question out, but the smile he gets in return makes it all worthwhile.

***

Dude, I am sitting in a bar in west Texas and they are showing footage of a chupacabra on TV right now! I don't know what these guys are smoking, because that's a coyote if I've ever seen one - maybe even a mangy dog - but there's no telling these crazy motherfuckers anything they don't want to hear. Seems everyone you talk to's run across one, but you and I both know if they had, they'd never confuse it with a coyote.

Anyway, there's not even any cattle mutilations, so looks like this whole trip has been a bust. Not like I'm complaining about Texas after spending most of December in Winnipeg - I nearly froze my balls off, what little was left of them. Temperatures like that take shrinkage to a whole 'nother level, Sammy, I'm tellin' ya.

Look, I'm sorry about that last message. I was just... anyway, just give me a call back.

He almost breaks then, listening to the message from the MUNI bus he's riding around town, trying to kill time during the hostel’s lockout hours.

He presses 9 and the cheerful voice tells him his message has been saved.

***

So I get to Abilene to check the post office box and they've got the package I sent you for your birthday marked moved, no forwarding address. I checked Stanford and they said you withdrew the first term. So where the fuck are you, Sam? What happened? All that fighting to get here, and you just up and leave? Call me the minute you get this, all right?

And then the texts:

where r u???
911 - call me now
worried - call your big bro
heading to cali now

Sam realizes Dean isn't going to stop until he knows Sam's all right, so he texts him:

i'm ok - figuring some stuff out

coming to get you

no, dean - not yet.

sammy... just come back. i can be there by 2morrow AM.

NO! i'm ok - will call u when i'm ready

take care of yourself.

u2.

no way sammy, they suck! stick with AC/DC.

Sam smiles at that. It figures the only conversation he's had with his brother since he left home is through text messages.

He switches his phone off and tries to figure out his next move.

***

He thinks maybe the sole reason for all of this has been a path for him to meet Jessica. She’s warm and funny and smart and all he knows is he wants to be around her as much as possible. They date for a few months, Sam courting her with coffee dates, picnics in the park, and the occasional $4 movie. When she asks him to move into her apartment, he is filled with actual glee for the first time.

"So let me get this straight: you carry everything you need in this one duffel bag."

"Yep."

"And one of these things is a giant cylinder of salt?" She smiles and he doesn't think he's ever seen something so beautiful. "There are better ways to bulk up, you know."

“You saying I need to bulk up?” Sam says, leaning in and sliding his arms around her as he places his palms along the countertop.

She smiles, her fingers inching up under the hem of his t-shirt, gliding firmly along the solid slopes of his abdomen and chest all the way up to his collarbone before repeating the path back down to his waistband. “Hey, I’m not complaining.”

***

It's a taste of normal, the kind he had looked to Stanford to provide. She laughs at him lining the windows and doorways with salt, but she doesn't think he's crazy. Eccentric, maybe, but she accepts it as part of him. She accepts him, and it's an amazing feeling.

Late at night, arms snaked around her as she sleeps on his shoulder, he thinks he could be happy forever like this.

He’s breathing heavy when he startles awake in the gloom, a dream of her burning on the ceiling in a white nightgown - just like his mother - fresh in his mind.

When it happens, actually fucking happens a few weeks later, just like he saw in his dream, he can’t save her. He stumbles away from the burning remnants of her apartment and collapses in an alley a few blocks away, crying sooty tears. He thinks of home, his father and Dean and the Impala and some anonymous motel room, hears his father’s angry, pleading voice in his head from the fight they had just before he headed out to Stanford.

You’re never going to have normal, Sam. Believe me, I tried.

***

Northern California isn't Wyoming , but the cool air and seemingly constant rain aren't doing much for this cough, and he wonders if he shouldn't have headed south for the winter. Like a bird, he thinks, laughing a little to himself until the cough catches and he coughs up some nasty looking green gunk into the wad of toilet paper in his hand. He's shivering with fever, hot and cold all at once, and he's not sure what to do with himself. He spends his last $3 on a cheap umbrella in Chinatown, then wanders up Stockton towards North Beach in the hopes of panhandling enough to buy some aspirin and a hot cup of tea. He's listing a little, breathing hard and hardly breathing, and it reminds him of that tedious greeting - working hard or hardly working? - and that's his last thought as the sight and sounds around him start to fade out.

***

When he wakes, everything is hazy and red. He can feel the fire coursing through him, and he knows he’s burning alive. Jess, he thinks and tries to pull her down from the ceiling. Beautiful Jess, afraid and bleeding and burning on the ceiling. The smoke chokes him and he coughs until he can’t breathe and someone has him by the shoulders, shushing him. Puts something over his nose and mouth and he can breathe again. Thinks he’ll never take it for granted again.

“You need to leave this on, Sammy.” A familiar voice breaks through the haze, quiet but authoritative all at once. A cool palm runs over his forehead and this all seems like it should be familiar, but he can’t quite place it. “You’re okay now; just sleep.”

***

He’s clearer when he wakes next, taking stock and realizing he’s in a hospital bed.

“Double pneumonia.” Dean says, before he can even ask the question. “Nurse called; said it looked like you’d been living on the streets.”

He shakes his head slightly, not having the energy to go into all of it.

“You were delirious… kept calling out for a Jess.” Sam’s eyes fill at that, and Dean’s face softens. “Can I…” Sam just shakes his head, not trusting his voice as the tears spill over. Dean sits on the bed next to him, wraps an arm around his shoulders and doesn’t say a goddamn word, and it makes Sam cry harder.

Four years later, and he can’t remember why he ever ran from this.

***

Three days later, Sam’s bundled into the Impala as Dean blasts Zeppelin IV and it feels so familiar he can’t help but smile.

“Where to?”

“Carson City. Been working a job over there – mean-ass poltergeist.” Dean’s eyes flick over to him before going right back to the road. “Could use a hand if you’ve got some time.”

Sam nods; after all, it’s the least he can do for his brother. He clears his throat, and Dean’s eyes flick over his way again. “I just want to say… those voicemails and messages? I know I was kind of being a prick not calling you, but those? Man, they really helped when things got tough. I’d listen to the voicemails or read the texts and… they just really helped me, you know?” He’s staring at his knees and the silence underneath the music is deafening until Dean finally shoves his shoulder.

“Jesus Christ, you’re my brother… what was I supposed to do, write you off for going to school?”

“Dad did.”

Dean shakes his head as he relaxes back into the seat, left hand on top of the wheel and right draped casually over the seat. “You know one of us has never been more than one state away since you left?” Sam looks up, shocked, and Dean nods. “It’s true. You’re not the only one full of piss and vinegar, Sammy. The hospital actually called him, but he’s down in Georgia working a job. So he called and told me to haul ass to Cali.”

Sam just looks at him, stunned, until Dean turns back to the road. “All right, Samantha, enough with the chick flick moments. Did California turn you into an even bigger pussy than before?”

Smiling, Sam whacks his arm off the seat and settles back, letting the sunshine lull him into a doze. Right before he drops off, he hears Dean say “Get some sleep – we’ve got work to do.”