(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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[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?"