(no subject)

[samwiser]

[OPEN TO boyintransit]

The spell had turned Sam's stomach inside out, he was sure of that. His head felt full, fuzzy, but he knew that he had limited time to act. The day was beautiful, at least, which made his stroll in the park look normal, at least. He spotted his younger self on a bench, staring out at the water. God, how many times had Sam spent time alone just staring at things?

Still, now wasn't the time to question himself. The threat had been made in their future, and Sam was damned if he was going to leave himself unaware, especially since he'd been given the means to take action. Slowing as he approached the bench, Sam's olive-colored army jacket rustled, just a bigger version of the one the teen was wearing.

"Mind if I sit?" He asked, moving with his words and filling up the open half of the bench. He stared out at the water for a second before leaning toward the middle, his voice pitched low. "Sam, it's me...you. Hear me out and please don't draw your knife." Taking a deep breath, Sam recited their lengthy, specifically-worded sentence that John Winchester had drilled into his children from the time they could talk.

Sam's hand dropped down to smaller shoulder, strong and lithe already but lacking the bulk Sam had gained. "We need to get back to the motel." Sam hoped what he'd done was convincing enough - the only scar they shared when he was that age would likely get him arrested if he tried to show it.

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[boyintransit]

Lost in his thoughts as he was, Sam was still aware of another person's presence when his older self approached, and he visibly tensed, giving a sideways glance to him. He made no move to stop him from sitting, even if the question asked went completely unanswered. As the older, taller Sam stared out at the water, the younger kept a close watch on him, essentially a stranger.

It became obvious the moment his name was brought up (which Sam hadn't given), that the teenager was going for his butterfly knife. He hesitated though as the older Sam continued speaking, still not saying anything himself.

He shifted backward from the touch laid on his shoulder, expression still quite wary as the teen looked up at Sam and studied his own face.

There was something familiar about the stranger, he had to admit, and the fact was he knew things about Sam too, knew the correct phrase to say. It still felt dangerous to lead him back to the place he was staying, though. Then again, there were also more weapons there, and it was a place to where Dad and Dean would eventually return. If this was a trick of some sort, then it would be better for whatever might happen to happen there.

Finally, he decided and gave a nod, standing up from the bench.

"Okay. But I don't think I believe you yet," he replied, taking his backpack from its leaning place against the bench and hefting it over his shoulder. He turned to begin heading in the direction of the motel, not far from where they were. He had, after all, been on on his way back after school when he'd stopped here to stare at the water, trying to postpone his return to the dreary, empty motel room again for as long as possible.

[samwiser]

"Good, that's exactly how we were taught to be," Sam said, offering a little smile, wondering when he grew up from being the guarded teen to the damaged adult. Could he just take himself out of this reality - away from the hotel and then off they'd live in Canada or some place isolated but stable. A school for Sam to go to, a garage where he himself could work, giving the boy a proper address and a chance to make friends. Would that alter who he was, now? Would it mess with every timeline? Bring back innocents but damn others? Release demons and yetis and werewolves and vampires?

With a self-defeating sigh, Sam stood, pushing all of the fairy tales away. "Lead the way," he said, even though he knew where they were going. This had been a time in his life when they were almost stable, and Sam had fond memories of the pond. How he wanted to stop himself from walking back to the room, maybe by Sammy an ice cream, or visit an arcade? Unfortunately, he didn't know how long he had or what he really needed to figure out.

Best to not dally. Never in their life had they had such the opportunity for such luxuries. "So what's your favorite subject?" He asked, figuring it would look more natural for two guys who looked so similar to have a conversation than walking back the short distance in silence.

[boyintransit]

Though he was tempted to make the man walk in front of him just to play it safe, they were still in public anyway. It's hardly likely that he'd hurt him in full view of other random passers-by, right? Still, Sam kept his hand on the butterfly knife in his pocket as he walked, leading the way as suggested.

He looked back over his shoulder at his older self when the question was asked, not quite smiling but unable to stop himself from feeling a touch happy that someone else was taking an interest in Sam's academic interests. Of course, he realized it's just space-filler. Something to keep them from walking in silence. His first response was to shrug, only deciding to answer after a moment.

"There's interesting stuff in all of 'em, though my favorite class right now is probably World History..."

He frowned after saying it, only because of the oddness of the situation, this conversation if Sam really is Sam... If they really are the same person at different points in time, though, he'd probably remember the class, this particular school and this particular teacher. And the teacher may have been what made this class his favorite, just because he was so enthusiastic about the subject himself. It was contagious, even to someone who was already always eager to learn more. The different cultures and different religions, beliefs of the world, were fascinating to him and made even more so by the context of the time periods they were developed in, what was going on in the rest of the world at the time too.

[samwiser]

"Yeah, the Egyptians were such a deep culture. But you'll enjoy the Mayans too. They come later," Sam sad, proud of himself for almost working a smile out of his teenaged-angst self. He remembered that they were few and far between.

Sam noticed the silence butt back in and stopped. "Hey," he said softly, crouching down and gently touching the thin shoulder before him to get Sammy's attention. He didn't expect the other to turn around, and the words were tumbling out whether he did or not. "You can geek out to me. You can be yourself with me. From the tombs of Tutankhamun to the hanging gardens of Babylon. They are such great discoveries in the world and makes things not feel so...small. Like, there's a way out."

Sam smiled and then hopped up continuing to walk, now he was side-by-side with himself, shadow falling over the teenager's face. "It looks like you're playing with yourself, just so you know. Move the knife to either the waistband of your jeans or in your sock. You can always fake an untied shoe, even wearing boots, since everyone knows shoes become untied."

[boyintransit]

Halting at the sudden touch and tensing, Sam didn't turn around but he didn't shrug off the touch either. He was still trying to decide whether or not to believe he was who he said he was, even if the subjects he brought up did help give credence to the idea... Still, there was always the possibility he was just reading Sam's mind or memories or something. There was no telling really, none of it actual proof of anything.

It felt simultaneously patronizing and like a gift being given to him, his older self telling him he could talk and ramble about whatever he wanted, and it implied that he was just as interested in the things the teen was. Which, admittedly, was nice to hear. It wasn't something he got to think on for long though, or make a decision about, because then they were walking again, side-by-side this time, and the future Sam was saying something that wound up making the younger about fifty different kinds of embarrassed. He pulled his hand from his pocket fast, like he'd been burned, switching instead to clutching the straps of his backpack, forgoing the knife entirely because he'd rather just forget anything like that had even been brought up.

"Fine, whatever, I didn't ask for your advice." His tone was forced and dry and he immediately quickened his pace like he was trying to escape the man's presence entirely... Or, at the very least, get to the motel faster so conversation in the meantime wouldn't be necessary.

[samwiser]

"Yeah, sorry about that. I wasn't thinking." Sam felt suddenly bad. It wasn't every day you got to embarrass yourself to yourself, who was just as embarrassed. "Not fair of me to tell you how to carry your arsenal." At least he'd be out of school before metal detectors became a common thing at every school entrance. They was no way that the Winchesters would have been able to carry what they had as conspicuously as they did.

Sammy was a quick one - as most angry, embarrassed, weirded-out teenagers were, but he hadn't shot up yet like Sam had, and his long strides made it easy to keep up, looking like they were both in a hurry to get where they were going. Sam decided that any more talk would just be bad news, so instead he kept a pace behind his younger self, seeing that he needed a haircut and that Dean's hand-me-downs weren't quite doing the trick.

Dean had always been more boxy than Sam was - a tree to his older brother's boulder - and around the early teens had been when it was becoming more obvious. Sammy had his belt cinched as tight as it could go, the long, unused tongue of the braided leather going halfway around his hip.

As they approached the motel, Sam followed after himself. He was sure the room would be warded or at least have a line of salt over the threshold. They'd been to too many hotels in too many cities during his young life for Sam to remember just exactly was in store behind that warped wood door. "The moment I step through the door, I'll set my weapons on the table," he said, his voice low as his shadow cast itself on Sammy's form.

[boyintransit]

The rest of the walk to the motel was spent in mostly silence, for which Sam was glad. It wasn't that he didn't, in fact, appreciate the advice. From now on he'll likely be carrying the knife at his waistband, but had the guy really needed to point out what it had looked like? Whatever, that part of the conversation was over and there was no need to dwell on it... Which was easier thought than done, as Sam felt the embarrassment linger.

As his older self was pondering the state of the teen's hair and clothes, Sammy ran a hand through his hair and sighed before fishing the motel key out of his pocket. He glanced just slightly back over his shoulder and up at the much taller Sam and nodded at what he said.

Man, if this guy really was his older self, Sam realized he was going to be tall in the future. Taller than Dean? Well, that was always something he could ask later.

He stopped at the door and unlocked it before trudging in over bright blue carpet, the whole place decorated in an over the top fish theme, probably because of its proximity to that lake. It wasn't pretty but it could have been a lot worse. Both versions of Sam probably remember staying in a lot worse.

As the teenager tossed his backpack onto one of the beds, he pointed at the table near the door for his older self to lay down his weapons, like he'd said. "Leave them there, then."

[samwiser]

The room looked like a lot that he had been in. Bright and almost vulgar in appearance, so even in the night when only the TV was on to banish the quiet, the colors still pulsed. They tried to invade Sam's dreams, and he suddenly felt sorry for the younger him, knowing how many years of such places were still in store, and what laid beyond.

"Alright," Sam said, easing his Bowie knife from the back of his belt, then his gun from inside his coat. On second thought, Sam removed his entire jacket. It looked stiff, but it was just full of various weapons. "Pretty sure there's even a ninja star in one of the pockets," he admitted with a little smile.

When he saw his younger self looking at him, Sam pulled up his flannel shirt, exposing from his navel to mid-stomach. He slid a butterfly knife from his right him, snug between his skin and the elastic of his boxer briefs. With the knife clanging onto the table, Sam let his shirt fall back then pulled a small knife from the back of his boot. It had a blade that was so inconsequential that it could be overlooked. All the better, because that tiny blade had saved Dean and him before.

"Do you want to double check?" Sam asked, raising his hands slightly away from his body, cocking his head.

[boyintransit]

Sammy tried not to look too interested at the phrase "ninja star," since that's not something he got to see every day. Later, later. If this guy was who he said he was, maybe he'd let Sam check stuff out more later.

He turned his attention back to his older self as he continued pulling weapons from his body, silently and curiously keeping count. There was a frown on his face, as he was thinking even in the future he'll have need for all these weapons. Even in the future, he'll get to be scared all the time, for himself and for the people he loves. That wasn't really what he wanted for his future, but it didn't really come as a shock, either.

What did come as a little bit of a shock was how he found himself as curious about the glimpses of Sam's body he was given as he was the weapons. But then maybe that made sense too, maybe that was a normal reaction to meeting someone claiming to be you from the future. Not like he could know. But it would be interesting to see how he had grown, in what ways they were different and what ways they were still the same. How often did people get opportunities like that?

It was that question asked that pulled the teen's gaze back up from older Sam's body to his face again, and Sammy gave a nod, lip briefly bitten before he moved forward to check for further weapons. He knew how to pat someone down in order to do so, unlike probably every other boy his age. Just another thing that kept him from being normal.

"Geez, you're tall," managed to slip past him before he could think not to say it, a simple comment since it made checking for remaining weapons slightly more of a nuisance.

[samwiser]

As Sam's jacket hit the table, he saw the distaste on his younger self's face. He'd never thought of it ever being too many weapons, but then, he'd never seen himself grown up before. It couldn't be helped, and as Sammy's eyes drifted from the weapons to his midsection, Sam let the thoughts go. A hard life didn't have to make a hard person. Sam was used to thinking metaphorically because he had to admit that jumping to his feet and barely getting six hours of sleep a night might have contributed to his lean, strong form.

He wondered, though, if since Sammy saw the butterfly knife on his right side if he'd start to carry it on his left. Would Sam go back with a new position for his weapon? Would Sammy try to switch something about himself to affect Sam in the future?

As the thoughts flitted through his head, Sam let himself be patted down then, when Sammy complained, Sam slowly squatted. The ben brought them more to eye level. Sam rested his large hands on his knees, watching his young face. He suddenly had the urge to reach out and hug himself. To offer a level of comfort that - while not absent from their childhood - had been lacking.

Instead, Sam gripped his kneecaps, realizing how close they were to a cache of weapons that would likely get them both hurt if Sammy went for them. Sam glanced down, reaching up to adjust his shirt to cover his tattoo, setting his neckline off kilter as he held his arms out to be searched.

"You sure the butterfly knife was your only weapon?"

[boyintransit]

The adjustment of position did make things easier, and Sam muttered a quiet "Thanks" before finishing the search, mildly surprised that he'd been willing to do that without even having to be asked. He pulled away once he was done, retrieving the butterfly knife from his own pocket when it was mentioned and placing it, still closed, onto the table amid all the other weapons, even if it seemed kind of odd to him that he should have to be disarmed, when the guy clearly had him at a disadvantage. Then again, it wasn't like Sam hadn't been taught how to use other people's height and bulk against them. He could maybe try to take him, if things came to that, but it was likely his self-proclaimed older self had more experience too.

"What, you wanna check? If you're really me though, wouldn't you already know if I was carrying anything else on me, and even where I was carrying it?"

He didn't have anything else, not on him. While most of the schools he'd gone to over the years didn't have metal detectors, it was still better to play it safe than to risk being caught with something, which would only be a hassle and a headache for everyone involved, especially when well-meaning teachers or school administration thought they needed to get counselors or, God forbid, Child Protective Services involved. The butterfly knife was the most discrete thing he owned, so it was the safest thing to carry.

Sammy held his own arms up anyway in the end, offering to let Sam check for himself. He wasn't going to hold it as proof against him or anything, just because he couldn't remember or wanted to be sure that his younger self wasn't carrying anything else on him.

[samwiser]

"Maybe I've been shifted to an alternative universe where you keep a grenade in your pocket." Sam gave a small smile, watching the butterfly knife slide onto the table, into the stack. It was nice of him - and a very Sam gesture to do that. Dean wouldn't have. John wouldn't have. But Sam? Sam would have and did.

Remaining in a squat, Sam's hands squeezed down on Sammy's wrists then gently slid down his arms to his pits. The back of his fingers traced lightly down Sammy's sides, the outside of his legs and up to an inch before his groin. There might still be a grenade there, but he wasn't apt to check.

Instead, Sam brought his hands up and let his fingers press into Sammy's back. He pushed him closer, then let his investigation-arms cross to either shoulder. It wasn't a full hug, but it was enough for him. Sam let go a couple seconds later, knowing he wouldn't be able to stand his younger self wiggling out of his own arms.

"Seems clean," he said, brushing his hair away from his face, tucking it behind his ear.

[boyintransit]

Sam's comment and small smile got a slight twitch of a smile from his younger self, but it was brief and topped off with a roll of his eyes, more a force of habit than anything. "Yeah, I'm sure an alternate universe exists where it's totally normal to carry grenades with you to school." Because everything else about their lives was so normal.

He remained stock still and tense as the older checked for weapons, keeping his gaze off to the side. It felt just as awkward to him as when he'd been checking Sam, but at least it was over fairly quickly. And then he was being pulled and pushed closer into an almost-hug and it was an unexpected move and yet it felt, if not familiar, still comforting somehow. The emotion conveyed itself was maybe what was familiar. It was so easy to tell how concerned and sorry for him his older self felt. All he had to do was imagine himself older, how he'd feel about his past self, which was his present self. As confusing as that whole train of thought kind of was, in the end everything made some sort of sense.

Once Sam had let go and pulled away enough that Sammy could look at him, he was frowning but there was a searching look in his eyes as he looked over the tall man, watched him tuck his hair behind his ear, and recognition just clicked into place.

"...You really are me, aren't you?"

[samwiser]

"That's the thing about alternate universes - you never know exactly what could be out there." Thankfully, there hadn't been a lot of dimensional travel for the Winchesters. They had enough to worry about in their own timeline. But, sometimes it did happen. There was no need to elaborate - Sammy would find out soon enough. Just like how Sam wouldn't tell him how great a time college was, or how hurt he would be when his father made him choose. Or the love of Jessica or the pain that followed. No, now wasn't the time for that. Besides, telling his younger self that was just as likely to get him - them - killed.

A little smile touched the corner of Sam's mouth again. "We always were smarter than the average hunter." Sam stood up slowly from his crouch and stretched his arms toward the ceiling, falling only a few inches short of touching it. "But don't go getting hurt just so I have an awesome scar that you want to see."

Sam looked at the chairs, then at the bed. "Do you mind if we sit? I know the bed's not the best place to get comfortable, but I promise not to hog it." Now that Sammy believed he was who he was, maybe they could get a little more comfortable with one another. "The one furthest from the door?" He rolled his eyes as he said it, Dean insisting he needed protection and always demanding the one closest.

[boyintransit]

Well that certainly piqued Sammy's curiosity.

"Do you have a lot of scars?" Was there a story behind each one? Were they all from hunting, since Sam had basically just told him he was still a hunter, or were there normal scars too? Did he ever have to be hospitalized, have an operation? And that led to a more important question surfacing in his mind... What about Dean, or Dad? Were they still alive in the future, from the time that grown-up Sam came from? Should he ask? Did he really want to know?

But then his older self was suggesting moving to the bed and Sammy gave a shrug like he didn't really care either way, though when he caught the next question and the roll of eyes, it made him feel a little more at ease. If Sam could easily, if subtly, mention Dean like that, then he was probably alright in the future, right? Stowing those particular questions away for a little later, he mirrored the roll of eyes as well. "Yeah. 'Course."

He moved over to the bed furthest from the door and sat down on it cross-legged, briefly running a hand through his hair. "You're so tall. How old are you, anyway?"

I am so sorry! I never got this response

[samwiser]

"I do," Sam said softly, his eyes a little sad before he pulled his shirts off. His skin was tight and tan and his tattoo stood out, but so did the marks across his chest and torso. He looked down at himself, long fingers sliding over the skin. "But I'm still here," he added, his head still down but his eyes moving up to catch his younger self.

Sam slid onto the bed, hands instantly going to the pillow and bunching it under him. He slept facing the bed, because no matter that Dean was there, that was the way Sam had grown up. "I'm in my late twenties, don't want to be any more specific than that." Sam reached out, but his fingers hovered just an inch from the young Sam's face.

"It's tough at your age. I remember." Sam let his hand fall, his voice full, honest. "It's tough to be tough, yeah?"