Fic: Wild By Skye (23/27)
Sam hated to admit it, but he felt out of place in Becky's house. It wasn't that she had a husband he'd never met or a baby on her shoulder that didn't fit with the Becky he used to know. It was just everything about it. The curtains on the windows, the clean carpet still striped from the path of the vacuum cleaner, the furniture that screamed wedding gifts, the smiles and the conversation and the stupid cat on the windowsill. It was all so alien.
Sam tried to pretend it wasn't. He hugged Becky and introduced himself to James and made all the appropriate noises of enthrallment upon seeing the newborn. It just felt so forced that Sam could almost feel his teeth grinding with the effort of looking like it wasn't insanely weird to him.
But he stuck it out and stayed when his first instinct had told him to bolt. Leave because this wasn't his life anymore. He hated that the dream was ruined, permanently tarnished, and to spite that ruin he stayed and faked it.
They talked, caught up on each other's lives (when it was Sam's turn, he lied). They talked about school. About Jess. That was awkward. Sam heard the way Becky remembered Jess, and he didn't remember her being so ordinary. He had known Jessica better than Becky did, he knew his memories of an extraordinary woman were accurate (that therefore it was Becky who had fallen short in keeping Jess alive in her memories true to the person she had been) but still, to have Jess painted as just average was unsettling.
Sam realized that despite the baby, the home, and the husband, he had changed more since Stanford than Becky had. She had added things, but essentially it was the same insular life she'd had before. Had probably always had and probably always would. Lives had not been saved and lost in the interim for her. Her actions didn't mean more to the world than the enrichment of her own little life.
It was how it was supposed to be. Becky had everything Sam had tried so hard to have. And she had it with no effort on her part… no fighting tooth and nail to get it just to lose it in two short years.
Sam didn't want to feel resentful about that, but he did.
Why did Sam have to be the soldier and Becky the innocent to benefit from his battle scars?
By the time Becky was offering to have him stay for dinner, Sam was ready to leave. It had been more disappointment than a cause for rejoicing to see Becky again. It only highlighted to him how different he was, how unfit he was for the normal life that she had inherited by his (and hunters like him) fighting the darkness without acknowledgment.
"Are you sure you won't stay?" Becky asked as Sam was making his gradual way toward the front door.
"Nah, thanks anyway, but I told Dean I'd meet up with him later for a bite to eat." She wouldn't know otherwise.
"You know, you could have him over, too. I'd love to meet this famous big brother of yours," she joked with a twinkle in her eye. Sam had told a few stories about his older brother back in college (only a few were appropriate for the telling with civilians), but they were enough that his group of friends got the gist of the man, the myth, the legend that was Dean Winchester.
Sam just smiled thinly, hoping it didn't look too forced. "We kind of had plans already, and besides, we were hoping to get an early start out of town tomorrow morning anyway," he hedged. The lies came easier than Sam thought they would.
Before, he had wanted Dean to meet his old friends, but that had changed over the course of the evening. Truthfully, though it made no sense, Sam didn't like the idea of Becky knowing Dean better than Jess did. Jess never got a chance to get to know Dean, and of anyone in his once-normal life, Sam would want to share his family with her. Not Becky.
"Oh… you're leaving so soon?" Becky looked disappointed.
Sam shrugged. "Yeah. What can I say? Dean's a rolling stone," he faked a chuckle.
Becky shook her head. "It must be fun, being on the road all the time."
He doubted she would think so if she tried it. She was too much a settler. She might talk wistfully of the life of a nomad, but she wouldn't like it if it was her life.
No room for a baby and husband in the trunk next to the guns.
"It was great seeing you again, Becky," Sam said, and part of him actually meant it. Seeing her again made him remember the good days at Stanford. Days he could never recover or relive, but good for the memories.
"You too, Sam. Take care."
"I will."
Twenty-Four
Sam tried to pretend it wasn't. He hugged Becky and introduced himself to James and made all the appropriate noises of enthrallment upon seeing the newborn. It just felt so forced that Sam could almost feel his teeth grinding with the effort of looking like it wasn't insanely weird to him.
But he stuck it out and stayed when his first instinct had told him to bolt. Leave because this wasn't his life anymore. He hated that the dream was ruined, permanently tarnished, and to spite that ruin he stayed and faked it.
They talked, caught up on each other's lives (when it was Sam's turn, he lied). They talked about school. About Jess. That was awkward. Sam heard the way Becky remembered Jess, and he didn't remember her being so ordinary. He had known Jessica better than Becky did, he knew his memories of an extraordinary woman were accurate (that therefore it was Becky who had fallen short in keeping Jess alive in her memories true to the person she had been) but still, to have Jess painted as just average was unsettling.
Sam realized that despite the baby, the home, and the husband, he had changed more since Stanford than Becky had. She had added things, but essentially it was the same insular life she'd had before. Had probably always had and probably always would. Lives had not been saved and lost in the interim for her. Her actions didn't mean more to the world than the enrichment of her own little life.
It was how it was supposed to be. Becky had everything Sam had tried so hard to have. And she had it with no effort on her part… no fighting tooth and nail to get it just to lose it in two short years.
Sam didn't want to feel resentful about that, but he did.
Why did Sam have to be the soldier and Becky the innocent to benefit from his battle scars?
By the time Becky was offering to have him stay for dinner, Sam was ready to leave. It had been more disappointment than a cause for rejoicing to see Becky again. It only highlighted to him how different he was, how unfit he was for the normal life that she had inherited by his (and hunters like him) fighting the darkness without acknowledgment.
"Are you sure you won't stay?" Becky asked as Sam was making his gradual way toward the front door.
"Nah, thanks anyway, but I told Dean I'd meet up with him later for a bite to eat." She wouldn't know otherwise.
"You know, you could have him over, too. I'd love to meet this famous big brother of yours," she joked with a twinkle in her eye. Sam had told a few stories about his older brother back in college (only a few were appropriate for the telling with civilians), but they were enough that his group of friends got the gist of the man, the myth, the legend that was Dean Winchester.
Sam just smiled thinly, hoping it didn't look too forced. "We kind of had plans already, and besides, we were hoping to get an early start out of town tomorrow morning anyway," he hedged. The lies came easier than Sam thought they would.
Before, he had wanted Dean to meet his old friends, but that had changed over the course of the evening. Truthfully, though it made no sense, Sam didn't like the idea of Becky knowing Dean better than Jess did. Jess never got a chance to get to know Dean, and of anyone in his once-normal life, Sam would want to share his family with her. Not Becky.
"Oh… you're leaving so soon?" Becky looked disappointed.
Sam shrugged. "Yeah. What can I say? Dean's a rolling stone," he faked a chuckle.
Becky shook her head. "It must be fun, being on the road all the time."
He doubted she would think so if she tried it. She was too much a settler. She might talk wistfully of the life of a nomad, but she wouldn't like it if it was her life.
No room for a baby and husband in the trunk next to the guns.
"It was great seeing you again, Becky," Sam said, and part of him actually meant it. Seeing her again made him remember the good days at Stanford. Days he could never recover or relive, but good for the memories.
"You too, Sam. Take care."
"I will."
Twenty-Four