~ Something ~



Sam's not quite sure how he knows the teenager he's watching is the person they're after, he just does. There's just… something about him. He's different from all the other kids walking around the lake. Where the others have congregated into groups, Sam's focus stays away. He has made no attempt to join any of his fellow graduates of Denver High. He stands alone, far back as he possibly can. Sam watches several teenagers approach him, mostly girls, but they're gently sent on their way with smiles and pats on the shoulder.

It's the way he smiles that catches Sam's attention the most. It never reaches his eyes and is fraught with tension -- as though he doesn't really want to be there. As though something's forcing him to stay.

And it's because of that Sam decides to approach him. When he reaches the teenager, he's almost not surprised when he gives Sam a suspicious glare. This is one part of the job that Sam always hates. It's not so much approaching strangers and trying to extract information that he hates. He hates when they approach them. It's always after a disaster, when someone has died or, in this case, when they slip into comas. It's always when people are consumed with pain, grief or fear.

This teenager -- man -- is no exception. His eyes are a pool of pain, grief and fear… as well as other emotions he can't decipher. He almost seems haunted, as though he's seen something so horrifying that his life will never be the same.

Without a doubt, this is Sam's guy.

"Hi," Sam greets him, plastering his 'I'm harmless' smile on his face. It's either that smile or his sympathetic smile but, Sam doesn't think sympathy will work with him. There's just… something about him. "Are you Jack Peters?"

"Maybe."

"I'm Sam." He holds out his hand for Jack to shake. "I'm Harrison Williams' cousin."

At the mention of one of the comatose students, Jack's demeanor changes completely. The suspicion slips away and his entire expression closes off. Sam can't read his expression -- his eyes -- anymore. He's shut down completely.

For a second, Sam thinks he's going run. His hand has been in the air for too long and Jack, well, Jack looks freaked. "I… I, err, know this is a bad time." All the students from the Class of '06 have gathered here for a sort of memorial. It's why Sam knew Jack would be here. "But I'd just like to talk to you for a few minutes." And, insane as it is, Sam wants to reassure Jack that he means no harm, that he's not here to blame the teenager or hurt him.

"All right," Jack agrees, finally. He glances towards the other student. "I'll meet you at your car in a few minutes."

Sam blinks in surprise as Jack walks away, heading towards a brunette girl standing just on the waters edge. Suddenly, his opinion of Jack jumps up a notch. He didn't ask Sam where he was parked or which car was his. He knew. He probably knew Sam had been there all along.

There really is something about him.

~ * ~ * ~

Jack remembers a time when he was a hero. When he was tall and respected, instead of short and patronized. When he had enough power to actually do something, instead of leaving it all to the 'adults'.

He remembers a time when a book was just a book.

In a past life, he would have flipped open his cell and called in a few favors. He would have had the best people working their asses off around the clock to get answers, to find out why. In this life, however, he's standing alone while the kids he spent the last two years pretending to be like are lost, confused and, in some cases, scared as hell.

In a past life, Jack wouldn't be feeling the exact same way.

It's times like these he feel as though he's lost complete control of his life, as though nothing he ever does from here on in will help him get his former existence back. Sometimes he can live in denial and have faith that, once he's of age, he'll be able to build his life back from scratch, bigger and better. Up until two weeks ago, he'd really believed it, in spite of the fact that almost all of the people he had once thought of as friends had forgotten he was alive.

Now, Jack knows it's not possible.

Just like he knows it's not possible to avoid Harrison's cousins. Reluctantly, he makes his way up the small hill and towards the black Impala. He supposes he should be relieved that the two occupants of the Impala, he'd seen arrive almost an hour ago, were here for a reason and not… one of them. For a while there, he thought they were, especially when the two of them split up - Sam watching him like a hawk and his companion talking to some of the other kids. It's a good thing that they're Harrison's family, really it is… except in the sense that now Jack has to go talk to them.

Lie to them, to be more accurate.

That's another thing Jack misses about his past life. At least there had been people he could be honest with. Not everyone, but people important enough to make all the other lies not matter so much.

Now, there isn't a person on this planet -- or any other -- that Jack can't lie to.

Sam's back is to him when he reaches them and his companion is leaning against the side of the car, obviously finished pumping the rest of the seniors for information. Jack doesn't know what he asked them but, he will after he finishes here -- he'll know every question and every answer.

"Sorry I took so long," he says by way of greeting. Sam turns at his voice and his companion pushes off the side of the car to face him.

"No problem," Sam says as he makes his way towards him. "This is my brother Dean."

"Hey," Dean greets him.

Jack nods back but doesn't speak. He's learned early on it's best to play the solemn teenager, devastated by what has happened to his friends. They ask less questions if they think he's been traumatised, and the fewer questions the better.

The truth of it is Jack is devastated by what happened to them but, not for the reasons everyone thinks.

"Sorry about your cousin," Jack says, breaking the awkward silence. "He's a good kid." Out of the ten kids in comas, Harrison was the one he knew the least. Still, he was a good kid.

Sam's expression becomes pain -- almost guilty -- at his words and it's Dean who mutters a "thanks".

"I'm sorry, too," Sam tells him. "About your friends."

Jack smiles and, like every other time he finds himself in this situation, wishes like hell he was anywhere but here. "You, ah, said you wanted to talk?" He might as well get it all over with.

Sam nods. "We just have a few questions, if that's all right."

As much as he'd like to say no, Jack knows it won't do any good. "Sure."

To his surprise Sam falters, as though he's struggling to find the right words, and it's right then he reminds Jack of Daniel. Daniel was always so careful with words, always taking care to make sure they didn't open too many wounds, and Jack imagines that's what Sam's doing now. Crafting his words carefully so as to limit the amount of pain it will cause Jack.

He's the first 'adult' Jack's encountered since this all started who has done that. He appreciates it, he does but, Jack would prefer bluntness right now rather than sympathy.

Sympathy is something he doesn't want -- not now, not ever.

"It's okay. Whatever you want to ask just ask it." Jack says. When Sam doesn't say something straight away, he continues. "I take it you've spoken to the police about what happened?"

It's Dean who answers. "Yeah. They seem to think it's some kind of drug overdose." His eyes are fixed on Jack when he speaks. "Is that what happened?"
"I don't know. As I told the police, I wasn't there when it happened." Lie number one. The police hadn't believed him when he said it and, it appears, neither does Sam or Dean.

"Their blood tests showed no sign of any drugs in their system," Sam says.

Jack is well aware of this. "The police think it's a new type of drug. They're doing more tests."

"Will they find anything?"

Dean's question catches Jack by surprise. Not so much the question itself, but the tone behind it. As though Dean knows more than he's admitting. As though he knows Jack knows more than he's admitting. Suddenly, Jack feels himself go on alert.

"I'll admit, I'm not all that close to Harrison," Dean begins. "But what I do know about him doesn't fit with what the police are saying. Harrison's a nerd. From what everyone has told me, he wouldn't touch a drug with a ten foot pole. In fact, the same could be said for all the victims."

Sam shoots his brother a glare and then turns to Jack. "What Dean is trying to say is that the Police explanation for what happened doesn't quite make sense. None of the kids in the coma have a history of drugs, in fact they're…"

"Geeks, eggheads and nerds," Jack finishes for him. "I know who my friends are." And he knows he's the odd man out. It's also what the police -- and some of the parents -- know as well. If fact, Jack's pretty sure they believe he forced the drugs on his friends, they just can't prove it.

"Even if they did decide to try some drugs, you wouldn't let them." Jack freezes at Dean's words. "I spoke with some of the kids here, asked about you. Almost all of the kids said that you took care of your friends, kept them out of trouble… and kept trouble away from them."

Jack doesn't confirm or deny. This discussion isn't going the way he'd imagined.

"So what really happened, Jack?" Sam's tone and expression remind him so much of Daniel that he finds himself desperately missing his friend. "What couldn't you protect them from?"

The words hit Jack like a physical blow and he jerks in response. "I gotta go." He spins to leave, but only makes it two steps before he feels Sam's hand on his arm. Well, he's assuming it's Sam. Dean's too far away to reach him this quickly.

"Jack…"

Yep, Sam. "Let go." There's no threat in the words but, Jack sure as hell makes it evident in his tone. Actually, Jack's wondering why he's not pulling his arm away, why he doesn't just turn and make Sam let him go.

"Jack…" Sam ignores his order, but does loosen the grip on his arm. "We don't want to upset you, this isn't what this is about. We want to help you and your friends but, we can't do that without knowing what really happened."

"There's nothing anyone can do." It's not lost on Jack that that's the first honest thing he's said about what happened to his friends. There's not anything anyone can do. Christ, if there was, he'd have done it already.

Sam lets go of his arm. "How do you know?"

Jack refuses to turn around to face them. "I gotta go." He's not answering any more questions now. He doesn't trust himself. What the hell is wrong with him? He's withheld information under torture, yet he's revealed more to the two of them -- no, to Sam -- than he has anyone else.

"Jack, please… we don't blame you for what happened. No one does."

He can't help but let out a small bark of laughter. He could name more than a dozen people who blamed him. "I gotta go." If he had a name, rank and serial number, he'd be reciting that right now.

The conversation is over.

Sam doesn't say anything for a full minute, then he sighs. "Okay." He doesn't sound happy, but Jack doesn't give a damn. "Just…before you go."

He turns around to see Sam walking back to the car. He reaches through the window on the passenger side and pulls out a brown covered book from the front seat. Sam drops it onto the hood of the car and flips it open.

Jack's not even a yard from the where Sam is, close enough to see the drawing on the page the book falls open to but, not enough to read anything aside from the title.

It's not much, but it's enough to make the blood drain from Jack's face.

"Sam!"

Sam looks up at his brother's voice, who is nodding pointedly towards Jack and then the book. As though realising what he's done, Sam turns to a blank page but, to Jack's eyes, doesn't look the least bit sorry or even surprised that he'd let Jack see something he probably wasn't supposed to.

Quickly, Sam jots something down on the bottom of the page and then rips it off, handing it to Jack.

A cell number.

"It's my number," Sam needlessly explains. "Call me if you remember anything that can help. Anytime, day or night."

"I don't know anything." But he takes the number anyway and he suspect Sam knows exactly why.

Jack studies Sam, wondering if maybe his assessment of him and his brother was off. The book, or diary, he had… The drawing… It makes Jack wonder if they really are Harrison's cousins, or that maybe what happened at Harrison's house hadn't actually been a mistake.

Books weren't just books to Jack, not anymore.

Neither, he'd learned long ago, were people just people.

"You know, if you're going to pretend to be someone's cousin, the least you can do is actually make sure he has cousins."

Sam sits upright in bed, sleep vanishing at the sound of the voice. There's no greeting, no familiarity to the voice, but the words tell Sam exactly who is calling him at two in the morning. "Jack?"

"That's my name," he says. "I can't exactly say the same for you."

Sam winces as the meaning of Jack's words sink in. The surprise and relief at hearing from Jack after six days of silence (six days and four more mysterious comas) is almost overwhelming. He and Dean had figured that Jack had split town after the police couldn’t find him (although Dean blamed Sam ‘accidentally’ showing him their dad’s diary for Jack’s disappearance rather than the fact that Jack was now the police’s prime suspect). Now, however, Sam understands why Jack never called.

"So," Jack continues when Sam doesn't say anything. "Sam… "

Damn. "My name is Sam," he tells him, for all the good it's going to do him. Suddenly, Sam finds himself wishing he never told Jack he was Harrison's cousin. "Sam Winchester."

"Sam Winchester," Jack echoes in a way that strikes Sam as a little odd. "So, Sam Winchester, want to tell me why you were pretending to be Harrison’s cousin?"

Sam hesitates, trying to work out how to answer this without scaring Jack off. Something in his gut tells him that this is his one and only chance to get Jack to trust him. If he fails… he has no doubt he’ll never see Jack again. The police have been looking for Jack since they found four more kids in inexplicable comas, the day after they met the teenager, and from what he and Dean had been able to discern, Jack had disappeared without a trace -- much to the frustration of the police and to him and Dean.

Jack is the only survivor, as far as they are aware, and he’s the only one who can tell them what’s hurting all these kids.

"We wanted to find out what really happened to your friends," he says, deciding to go with the truth. "We didn’t think you’d tell us the truth if we pretended we were with the police."

His confession is met with silence and when Sam begins to fear that he's blown his and Dean's one and only chance to find out what is hurting these kids, Jack speaks. "Yeah, well, you're probably right."

Sam tries to hide his sigh of relief that Jack seems to take him at his word.

"I guess lying is the only way you get information on a Hunt."

He freezes. "H…hunt?"

Jack ignores him. "You told me to give you a call if I had any further information."

"Yeah."

"Got a pen?"

Sam searches the bedside table frantically while Jack rattles off an address. He finds one and writes it down as quickly as he can, all the while a million questions going through his head. Mainly questions to do with how Jack knew they were on a hunt.

"I'll be here for a few more hours at least," Jack tells him. "Now that Dean's awake, the two of you should come over. We have a bit to talk about."

The line goes dead and Sam's head whips around to his brother's bed. Dean is sitting up, blinking his eyes sleepily.

"Who was on the phone?"

Sam doesn't answer, instead he jumps out of his bed and goes straight to the window, searching for any sign of Jack. The parking lot is empty except for the Impala. There's no Jack… so how did he know Dean was awake? Lucky guess?

Somehow, Sam doesn't think so.

"Get up, Dean, we have to go."