Fiction WUaCitM01- Seeing Miss Morgan

Title: Wish Upon A Crack In The Mirror

Chapter Title; Seeing Miss Morgan

Author: Restive Nature

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Supernatural. They belong respectively to Whedon & Mutant Enemy and to Kripke & the CW. No infringement is intended and no profit made on this fiction. It is for private enjoyment only.

Rating: PG-13

Genre: Crossover

Type: young angst

Pairing: There are no pairings but for canon parings, but we'll see some people you might not normally think of put together.

Summary: Kids always think things are worse than they are, but in this situation, Sammy has never been more wrong.

Spoilers/ Time line: Pre series for Supernatural and in Season 2 and on for Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Feedback: Always welcome!

Distribution: Ask first please.

A/N: This came about from an odd thought I had about Mayor Wilkins and how he treated Faith.

Wish Upon A Crack In The Mirror

Chapter One

Seeing Miss Morgan

“So I heard you had to go see Miss Morgan today,” Dean Winchester muttered to his younger brother Sammy as he carefully ladled out yet another portion of cheap, from a can, supposed to be, Italian food.

“It was no big deal Dean,” eight year old Sam protested, glancing up at his overprotective twelve year old brother. Dean finished spooning out his brother’s portion, and then turned to fill his own bowl. After he was done, he placed the pot back on the stove, took his seat and picked up his spoon, then pointed it at his brother’s bowl.

“Eat!” he commanded. Sam sighed and picked up his own utensil. He toyed with his food while he waited for the expected rant. When their dad was gone on a hunt, like he was now, Dean tried awful hard to fill his dad’s shoes. And just like John, he couldn’t help but complain about people interfering in their lives. “So what’d she want?”

“Nothing,” Sam replied petulantly. His older brother gave him the glare. Sam had learned quickly that it meant ‘spill it before I pound it out of you!’ “She’s just new too. And she picked a few kids, so she could start to get to know them.”

“And she just happened to pick you, huh?” Dean scoffed as he crammed the sauce laden pasta into his mouth.

“And Danny Knott,” Sam was quick to point out. The kid was... What were the words his teacher had used to describe the boy? Oh yeah. So well-adjusted a nuclear bomb wouldn’t disturb him.

“Uh huh?” While the words were mild, the tone was still skeptical.

“Miss Hallie was nice!” Sam protested. “She let me draw and asked about school. And she didn’t make me take those psychotic tests.”

Dean smirked at that, even though he knew well enough that Sam meant the psychological evaluation tests that some people foisted off on kids they thought were ‘troubled’. He’d had to take a few himself. Stupid things! ‘Don’t worry Dean. There are no wrong answers!’ After a quick visit from a social worker or counselor or someone in an authoritative position each time, Dean had figured pretty quickly that with those tests, every answer was the wrong one. “You didn’t tell her anything about Dad or us, did you?”

“No!” Sam denied vehemently. His brother eyed him for a moment, then went back to eating, Sam followed suit, his hunger finally exerting itself.

But that evening, after they’d grudgingly washed the dishes, done their homework and well before John was due back, there came a knock at the apartment door. Both boys stilled instantly, silence falling across the room. Dean was just thankful that he hadn’t turned the TV on yet.

“Boys? Mr. Winchester? It’s Miss Morgan from the school. I know you’re in there. I heard you just a moment ago,” came the sweet voice of a young woman. “May I come in?”

Sam watched Dean silently swear. Sam moved cautiously to the door. Dean shook his head. “Miss Hallie?” Sam called. Dean scowled at him. “We’re not supposed to open the door to strangers.”

They heard her chuckle. “That’s fine boys, but I’d like to talk to your father. Is he there?”

The boys exchanged panicked glances. They couldn’t say that John wasn’t home. Then she might return with the police or a social worker. Dean, always a quick thinker, came up with a handy excuse.

“He’s in the bathroom ma’am,” he called through the door. “He’s not feelin’ good.”

“Oh dear,” they heard her mutter. “Well, it will only take a moment of his time. I can wait.”

The boys exchanged glances. “He might be a while,” Dean warned, and then inspiration struck. “And he wouldn’t want you to catch what he’s got. Said it was bad enough Sam and I probably got it and will have to miss school tomorrow.”

“Well I’m glad he’s so considerate,” Miss Hallie called back. “But I think-!” Her words were abruptly cut short.

“Who the hell are you?” another much more familiar voice demanded. Dean bit back a groan. Of all the times for their father to come back early from a hunt!

“I’m Miss Morgan,” Miss Hallie introduced herself. “The new counselor at Grove Elementary. Are you Mr. Winchester?” He must have nodded. “Well that’s odd. I’m distinctly sure that your boys said that you were in the bathroom. That you were ill.” On that last word, the door swung open. Both boys froze, but Dean had learned his quick thinking ways from the best.

“I was,” John stated unequivocally. “The boys must not have heard me tell them I was running out to get some ‘flu remedies.” He glanced at them and Dean shook his head.

“Sorry Dad, I didn’t,” he offered. Sam just shook his head as well. John turned back to the woman.

“And you bought enough to fill a duffel bag?” Miss Hallie asked with some amusement, glancing down at the bag in his hand.

“Forgot to bring it in earlier,” John lied easily. Then he made an odd face. “Excuse me!” he apologized harshly, dropped his bag and dashed to the bathroom. He opened the door, slammed it shut. They could hear retching noises and Dean turned back pointedly to Miss Hallie.

“Oh dear,” she sighed, and then turned to Dean. “Why don’t you tell your father that I’ll call on him in a day or so?” She gathered herself to leave.



“Uh, Miss Morgan?” Dean stopped her and Sam was surprised to hear him speak up and to at least try and sound respectful. The woman turned back and smiled widely, waiting for him to continue speaking. “Maybe you could tell me, or I can give my Dad a message about what you'd like to talk to him about. Maybe, uh, leave a phone number so he can call you?”



“Oh, that would be fine,” Miss Morgan nodded and then quickly dug in her purse for paper and a pen. She had the first and Sam grabbed a writing instrument from his backpack and handed it over to her. She approached the table, barely paying any attention to the remnants of the food there. Laying the notepad there, she quickly scribbled out a note, including the telephone number to the school's office as well as her extension. She tore the piece out of the small book and folded it once before handing it to Sam.



Slouching just slightly, she smiled down at him before ruffling his hair just slightly. “Nothing huge Sam. There was just a note from your previous school about some curriculum changes they'd thought you'd benefit from.”



Sam, even though having someone in any official capacity in their personal space was nerve wracking, still let out a sigh of relief. She might say it was nothing major, something adults always tried to make you believe, but strangely, he believed her about that. Patting his shoulder, she gathered her belongings, leaving the pen on the table. As she made it to the door, she turned to address Dean once more.



“If you boys do end up being ill tomorrow,” she reminded them, “please have your father remember to call the office before eight in the morning, otherwise you'll be considered truant.”



“Thank you Miss Morgan,” Dean nodded, seeming to have found the actual polite response. “I'll make sure.” He waited for her to leave before checking the knob to make sure the door was completely shut. As soon as they heard her foot steps recede, Dean hurried to the bathroom door, knocking on it to let his father know that the woman had left. John emerged from the bathroom, having heard the entire conversation, praising Dean for getting the message. Irregardless, they were leaving immediately. Sam knew it was inevitable.



But even as he sighed and started separating the books in his bag, school books from the very few that he owned, Dean and Dad were barking at him to hurry up and get his behind in gear. He knew it was futile to argue that Miss Morgan didn't mean them any harm. She was an authority figure and head shrink. Either on their own was bad enough to John. School counselors were a double whammy of bad when he was trying to fly under the radar with the boys.



Finally having had enough, and gripping his packed bag, Sam started trudging down the hallway, out to the parking lot to dump his belongings in the car. He knew he'd get another earful from Dean and probably Dad for wandering around by himself. But he was eight, not a baby. He knew all about stranger dangers. Reaching the parking lot, easily finding the Impala, knowing it would be locked, Sam dropped his duffel by the rear wheel and settled down upon it. Dad and Dean didn't need his help. He would just be in the way while they got things ready to go.



Resting his arms on his upraised knees and then his chins upon his arms, he sighed heavily. “Dad probably wouldn't care if someone did grab me,” he muttered morosely to himself. “He'd probably be happy I was gone. Wouldn't have to worry 'bout me no more. And Dean wouldn't have to either. Maybe it'd be easier it I was gone. Maybe I could...” the words wouldn't come out though, no matter what Sam might think at that moment. It was obvious that he was tired, frustrated and more than a little upset.



What is it you wish Sam?



The words seemed to be born on the evening breeze and Sam, only a little perturbed, rubbed his cheek against the long sleeve of his shirt. “I wish...” he mumbled and then looked around himself. There was no one around, no one to hear. Especially not Dean or Dad. “I wish that I could live a normal life, not always moving around. I wish I had a Dad that was the opposite of the one I got. I wish I could be some place where I could go to school for more than a few weeks.”



There, it was all out and Sam felt better, if only for a moment, that like purging a sickness, it had come up and out, to bother him no longer. But then the realization that for all the wishing he might do, it wouldn't change a thing. He lowered his head once more, burrowing his face in the crook of his elbow. He never even noticed Miss Morgan watching him from beyond the shadows of the street lamp. Never noticed how her attractive face morphed into something that could only come out of a nightmare. Nor did he notice when she stepped into the light, lifted one arm and with a curious wave and gesture of her hand, smiled widely.



“Wish granted Sam,” she murmured.



Sam never even noticed the flash of light that changed his entire world.