Blast from the Past

by FraidyCat

Disclaimer: All things Supernatural owned and operated by CW, Eric Kripke, et al.

A/N: I have never done this before — we have here an AU fic. (I am most pleased with the boys in their current state, so I have no idea where this came from.) Although the majority of my fanfic is complete before I begin to post, I think I may need to be more responsive to reviewers on this one, so this is a write-as-you-post story. (However, I can proudly assure the reader that I have never started a story that I did not finish, and I have well over 100 stories in my fanfic account.)

In this universe, Dean never went to Stanford to collect Sam, and Jess was not a Yellow Demon vic (therefore, there was no supernatural death to drive Sam back to hunting). Jess may or may not make an appearance. Sam followed his chosen path: he was accepted by Stanford Law, and is now an attorney. One of his clients is accused of murder, and claims innocence; Sam becomes convinced that he is telling the truth, and something supernatural is really responsible. Eventually, he asks for his family's help. (P.S., John and Bobby are also not dead, because the series never happened.)

Whew. There you have it. Good luck to us all.

Chapter 1: Not This Again

Sam was still frowning as the officer pushed his handgun over the counter.

"Not sure I should give this back to you with that look on your face," teased the sergeant.

Sam's face relaxed as he retrieved the gun and opened his briefcase to lock the gun inside. "Not planning any ambushes, Al. I promise. Just a bad client visit." He clicked the case closed and shrugged. "So another normal day, basically."

The sergeant laughed. "Counselor, give yourself a break. Sanderson is one bad dude. The way he killed those little girls…"

Sam interrupted, raising his eyebrows. "Hey, hey — innocent until proven guilty, remember?"

The sergeant snorted. "Yeah, sure,", then changed the subject. "Hey, tell me about that piece you got there — not your usual Glock."

"No," Sam agreed. "The Glock needs some work on the site. Until I have time to work on it, I'm carrying the Ruger. Ex-wife used to carry it, but she didn't take the gun with her when she left." Sam snorted. "Maybe her friend offered her a bigger weapon."

The sergeant guffawed loudly. "Somehow I doubt that," the officer finally said. "I swear, Winchester, you have more guns than I do."

Sam smiled. "Just a few," he answered. "I like to target shoot."

The sergeant raised an eyebrow. "Run into many targets between the jail and your office?"

Sam smiled again. "Can't be too careful, Al. Even Portland has an unsavory element. Seriously, I just got so used to guns when I was a kid — I feel naked without one."

The female officer looked Sam up and down, smiling. "Well, we wouldn't want that now, would we?"

Sam stepped back from the counter, deciding that it was time to go. "See you soon, Allison. I'll probably be back tomorrow to see my client."

"Looking forward to it, Winchester," the sergeant drawled. "I'll put it on my calendar right now."

Sam laughed, lifted a hand in salute, and turned to leave. Immediately, the frown returned to his face, and he walked slowly as he worked his way through the county jail, finally exiting into Portland's balmy spring weather. He blinked as the sunlight greeted him, squinting until his eyes got used to being outside again, and made his way down the sidewalk, eventually sinking onto an empty concrete bench. He laid the briefcase beside him on the bench and remembered his conversation with Sanderson.

"I'll see what the D.A. is willing to give us, but frankly, Jeff, you might want to plead guilty. The evidence against you is pretty compelling."

Jeff Sanderson shook his head. "No way, man. I'm not going inside as a child killer. I swear, I'll find a way to take myself out first. Besides, I didn't kill those girls — and I won't say that I did!"

Sam, suddenly glad that his client was already on suicide watch, held up a hand and spoke gently. "Okay, okay, come on. If you feel that strongly about it, of course we'll go with a plea of innocence." He lowered his hand to the table between them and leaned forward a little. "But you need to understand that we have to refute all of that evidence. The blood on your clothes and your hands. The hair samples. The fingerprints."

Sanderson looked away. "I never said that I didn't see the girls," he mumbled before looking back at Sam, his expression earnest. "But I swear, Mr. Winchester, that thing — I mean — they were dead when I got there. All that stuff you're talking about, I must have done all that when I was checking to see if they were still alive."

Sam frowned. "Wait, what? You started to say, 'that thing'…"

Silence descended upon the room. Sam waited. Finally Sanderson shrugged. "You won't believe me. Cops didn't. Public defender didn't. My old man can't pay you enough money — you won't, either."

Sam settled back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Try me."

His client stared at him, blinking twice. He held his hands together, wringing them on the table. "I was watching," he finally admitted. "In the park, from the trees. I have a favorite spot there, because I watch…I watch little girls, sometimes."

Sam repressed his disgust, thinking of his 5-year-old step-daughter, now living in Los Angeles with her mother and newest stepfather. Hard to believe she might actually be safer in L.A. "Go on," was all he said.

The hand wringing continued. "I swear, I've never touched any of them. I just like to watch them play. So innocent."

Sam interrupted, unable to listen to much more. "And?"

Sanderson regrouped. He told this part of his story quickly, sure that Sam wouldn't believe him. "And, I was just about to leave when I heard a noise in the trees to my left. This… this thing…suddenly burst into the clearing. The girls started to scream, but it picked one up with each…hand, I guess…and slammed their heads into tree trunks. Killed 'em both right then, I was pretty sure. Then it threw them on the ground, jumped on top of them, and started…hell, man, I think it was feeding, or something."

Sam dropped his arms, leaning forward again. "So why did it leave?"

Sanderson looked a little surprised at the question. He'd never gotten this far into the story, before. "Well…well, I guess I made a noise or something. Shock, Maybe I was even screaming. It looked around, and I thought it was coming for me, then — so I dropped to the ground, rolled as far under the foliage as I could, and waited to die. I don't know how much time passed, but I heard a noise from the other side of the clearing — like it was leaving. I waited a few minutes, then peaked out. The girls were just lying there alone, all bloody. I didn't think either of them was alive, but I went to check. I touched them both, There was blood all over on the ground, I had to kneel in it."

"There was blood on your shirt," Sam pointed out.

Sanderson paled. "One girl. One girl, she was…her chest was ripped open, and, and, I didn't know how to help her — but she was still alive. Dying. Blood was spurting out. Spurting. Just for a few seconds — then it stopped. She died, I guess."

Sam had heard enough about the girls. He was starting to feel a little sick. "What did the thing look like?"

Sanderson's hands stopped wringing, and his mouth gaped open for a moment. Did this guy believe any of this? "H-hairy," he finally answered. "Tall. Walked on two legs, had two arms, but it wasn't human. Not unless some gigantic guy in a hair costume is stalking the woods."

Wendigo, Sam thought to himself. He stalled for time while he opened his briefcase, cleared his throat. "Okay," he said, grabbing a sheaf of paperwork. "Let…let me tell you what's going to happen at tomorrow's hearing."

Now he sat on the bench and toyed will the cell phone he had taken from his pocket. After a few minutes, he depressed the "1", then put the phone to his ear.

The call was picked up during the third ring. "Hey, Sammy." Sam smiled fondly at the old nickname, something no one but his brother had ever dared to call him.

"Hi, Dean. Where are you?"

"St. Louis. Dad and I just ganked a vampire nest. Small one. Kind-of boring. How you doin'?"

Sam rolled his eyes. Only Dean would be bored by vampires.

"I'm okay," he answered truthfully. "Tina still calls me, sometimes — but she'll forget me. She's only 5."

Dean snorted. "You'll always be her favorite giant, Sam." Sam shivered, Dean's use of the word "giant" reminding him why he had called.

"Listen. Dean. I know this sounds crazy…but…well…can you guys come to Portland?"

Dean paused. "They've been gone six months, Sam. You still that broken up about it?"

Sam shook his head impatiently. "No, no, it's not that."

"Sam…" Dean's warning tone.

"Really. I'm okay. God, is Dad there? Let me talk to Dad."

Dean laughed. "Gotta tell you, Sam, it's always good to hear you say that. Seriously, why do you need us in Portland if everything's okay?"

Sam sighed. "I said that I'm okay, not that everything's okay," he nitpicked.

Dean sighed back. "So what is it?"

"I have a client," Sam began. "Long story short — I think I have a job for you. I'd do it myself, but I'm pretty out of practice, and there should probably be some back-up."

Dean was silent for so long that Sam was afraid one of their cells had dropped the call. He was about to check his own, when his brother answered. "What? You've got a what?"

"A job," Sam answered. "Your kind of job."

"Dad!" Sam heard Dean yell. "Pack it up. We're going to Portland."

— End, Chapter 1 —