Author's notes: This was so hard to write... ITGPSW left me with a feeling of "this is all so wrong", the look on Sam's face in the last scene with Uriel kept haunting me and did a hell of a good job of distracting me from working on my other story. I really hope that I can turn back to it now that I've got this one out of my system.
This is meant as a one-shot (sort of), there's a small backup-scene for a second chapter, but that's only for dramatic purpose, it kind of would have ruined the feeling of this scene had I put it at the end of this chapter.
I don't like writing 1st POV, I don't like reading them but this couldn't have been written in any other way.
Summary: For the second time in my life I'm forced to become someone that I'm not, Sam-the-hunter is slowly being rebuilt into Sam-the-demon and no matter how hard I fight against it, everybody keeps looking at me as if I have already lost. "Metamorphosis/It's the great pumpkin, Sam Winchester"-tag.
Disclaimer: I don't own the boys, I don't own the car and I will give them back as soon as I'm finished with them.
Am I already gone?
Sneaking out on my brother in the middle of the night has become kind of a bad habit. And, to be honest, I've gotten really good at it, he doesn't even stir when I open the door and walk out into the dark hallway.
The night air seems to be pretty cold; at least that's what I assume when I watch my own breath condensate in front of me, dissolving into the darkness as if it had never existed. I don't really feel it, have actually not felt anything since we came back from our latest … job. Anything but that migraine which had knocked me out long enough to sleep through most of the day.
I watch the street for a moment, there's the sound of a car rushing by in the distance and somewhere to my left I can hear two out of tune voices singing a song I don't recognize. I turn to find a couple swaying along the sidewalk, giggling and slurring their way through the verses. They grin at me as they stagger past, the guy actually leans close for a moment and slurs a drunk "Booh!" in my direction which has his girlfriend burst out laughing as if that has been the funniest joke in the world. I force myself to smile at him and they move on, disappearing into a side street.
They would be dead now if I had not –
My feet start walking on their own accord; carrying me somewhere. I can't make myself care about it.
I pass the impala - funny, can't remember turning into the parking lot - and I stop, staring at it for a moment. There's mud on the bumper, obscuring part of the licence plate, dust on the hood and some remains from the astronaut-egg-attack since we didn't have much time to clean the car 'cause there was a demon to kill. Despite popular believe my brother does have his priorities when it comes down to the job, the impala doesn't always come first. My gaze lingers on the dust for a moment and I bend forward, studying it. So that's what I'll look like if – I pause and swap if for as soon as – he decides I'm not useful anymore. Hilarious.
The second you become more trouble than you're worth, one word, one, and I will turn you to dust.
I shiver, bringing my arms around me to hug myself although I still don't feel the coldness. Staring down at the car in front of me, I watch as the night breeze lifts some of the dust off the hood and carries it away. Some part of my brain wonders how much wind it would take to blow my remnants away and I huff at that.
…I will turn you to dust.
There are so many people out there to hunt me, so many things which want to see me bite the dust – pun intended – you'd think that one more threat wouldn't necessarily give me the creeps.
I guess you could say I deserved this, I did indeed offend a creature I suppose you should bow humbly before, Uriel is an angel after all. And I was more than willing to bow before them. I know I'm not a strictly religious person, I don't go to church every Sunday, I don't even pray every day, but whatever this life has been throwing at me I've always been a believer, I've always known, well hoped actually, that there had to be someone watching over us, keeping us safe.
Now that I know… now that I have the hard proof Dean has always been missing that there are angels and that they carry out the will of the Lord I find myself feeling empty, hopeless, lost.
I didn't ask for any of this, I didn't want my mother to die, I didn't want to become a hunter, I didn't want that profane blood pumping through my veins, but no one ever asked me, I never had the chance to say 'no'.
I was a baby for God's sake!
I didn't make deals with the devil, like Dean did. I didn't sell my soul to the crossroad demon, I didn't give in when I stood at my brother's grave, praying, pleading, screaming at him to come back, to find a way to get back to me. His death hurt, hurt worse than anything I have ever experienced before. Yes, I was stronger than him, I could go on without him, but at what cost? Loosing Jess turned me into a hunter, loosing my brother broke me, tricked me into something I had never wanted to do but was unable to stop.
I had to keep fighting without him, to continue our family tradition. I knew it was what he wanted me to do and so I took the only weapon I had left and did it. For my Dad, for my brother. It was a relief to pour some of the grief about his death into something I could take as an advantage against the evil out there. I have always believed that it doesn't matter who you are but what you do. That in the end you would be judged according to what you did and not where you came from. Like the Christian notion of "live a good life and you shall be rewarded", don't judge a book by its cover, the end justifies the means, that sort of crap. Guess what, I was wrong, my book had been judged even before it was put into the bookshelf, filed away under "E", for evil.
Dean gets pulled out of hell by an angel, gets a second chance to live his life even though what he had done was wrong, could easily show up in any dictionary to serve as an example for blasphemy. Selling your soul to the devil for whatever reason, that's offending God if you ask me, offering indignity to Him, which, surprising as it may sound, is the exact meaning of blasphemy. Believe me, I checked.
My stomach cramps and I gasp, clenching my teeth.
It's just not fair.
There's no way I would ever want to see Dean back in hell again, my heart stops beating just at the thought of it and that's not what I'm talking about. It's just that… how come that Dean gets away with committing such an act which goes against everything those angels stand for and I'm kept alive because I'm useful at best? Worth nothing more than a handshake and yet another reminder that there is something evil inside me? I'm not fooling myself here, I didn't miss the fact that Uriel would gladly have removed Dean from God's earth as well, but not because of what he had done but because Uriel's a d— a divine being who does not work well together with mere humans.
I've done everything I could think of to stop it, to make something good out of Yellow Eye's curse, really, I tried. I've been putting up with killer-migraines that had me weeping like a child because they hurt so badly. There were times when I couldn't even stand the sound of my own breathing because it was so loud, because it added to the searing pain in my head. Night after night, vision after vision I would lie in bed, listening to the comforting sound of my brother's voice, my anchor those days. We would save the people I had seen, or try to, and go on.
And I was okay with it, at least I could help people, could save them. And still, no matter how many people we saved because of those visions I was always left feeling tainted, spoiled. Because of the way Dean kept looking at me, kept making those funny little jokes about "weird psychics" or calling me a freak. I know he didn't mean it like that, Dean would never say something like that if he knew how it would make me feel.
Then Dean was … gone and the headaches returned when I discovered what I could do if I concentrated hard enough. Pulling a demon out of a body takes a lot of concentration and energy, if you're not careful you will end up killing the victim just as brutally as if you'd have used that damned knife. But it worked… after some time, and it felt good. And night after night I'd gladly pay the price for it when I was alone in my motel room, puking my guts out with no one to back me up or tell me that everything was going to be all right. And although it hurt like hell, although I'd more than once been ready to end it all right there and then, I never gave up hope that one day my life could actually be meaningful.
If I didn't know you, I would wanna hunt you.
Yeah, right, almost forgot about that.
I've never, in my whole life, felt worse than when he looked me straight in the eyes and smashed my world into a billion pieces. It hurt, worse than calling me a freak back then, because this time he meant it, every single word of it. I kind of rationalized that he'd said it because he's worried sick about me and my destiny, that it was his way of saying "I'm scared". I don't even blame him, I guess he's right. I just wish it wouldn't hurt like this. I can and have put up with a lot of crap over the past years, but there are limits to what I can take and he almost finished me then.
My legs feel tired and I sit down on the impala's hood, digging my hands into the pockets of my jacket as deep as they get. Guess I'm feeling the chill of the night after all.
That means God doesn't want you doing it.
Those words sounded so wrong, coming out of his mouth, like some angel had pulled an Obi-Wan on him, using my brother to teach me a lesson in Christianity.
Why did an angel tell me to stop you?
Well, Dean, what am I supposed to do? Sit back and watch how the seals are broken? Do nothing because saving 1214 people – minus one college-professor and a cheerleader – apparently does not qualify for anything other than "You were told not to use it"? Somehow I can't wrap my head around the fact that I seem to be the bad one here, even though I did everything to save that stupid town. They didn't even lift a finger to help us. They are allowed to "smite" a whole town without justifying themselves. Calling the waste of life regrettable and their cause just.
Yeah, right, screw righteous, screw the bigger picture.
"What am I supposed to do?"
I jump at my own voice, I have actually said that out loud. And when I find myself waiting for your answer, even though you're not here, at my side as usual, I realize how much I miss you.
After Samhain was exorcised, after I had stood up against one of the most malicious creatures I have ever confronted I could barely make myself look at you, couldn't bear to face you at first, I was too scared. You didn't say a word, just checked me over and we left the place, driving back to the motel in deafening silence. My head had been hurting like hell when we finally arrived and I barely found my way to my bed, collapsing on top of it, losing myself in a world of agony and grief. And when I was able to think again, when the pain inside my head had died down to some level I could deal with it was almost evening again and I found myself alone in our room. There had been some pills and a glass of water on the nightstand and you had covered me with some blankets, taking care of me like you always did.
But you weren't there to check on me, you were just gone, without leaving a message. I didn't freak out, I knew you would come back and you did, some time after Uriel had scared the shit out of me you walked into the room, declaring that you were ready "to get the hell out of this town".
We left. And as much as I want to, as much as I've tried to convince myself that you're right here with me, right by my side, I can't shake the feeling that what you've left wasn't just this freaking motel room.
Somewhere along the road "might turn evil" has apparently turned into "will go dark side", since all I am these days seems to be Sam Winchester, the boy with the demon blood and extra-curricular activities. For the second time in my life I'm forced to become someone that I'm not, Sam-the-hunter is slowly being rebuilt into Sam-the-demon and no matter how hard I fight against it, everybody keeps looking at me as if I have already lost. As if it's only a matter of time until I pull some Darth Vader act on everybody and put on that freaking mask, turn my back on everybody I love. And while I've had you backing me up after Jess' death, helping me cope with everything, I fear that this time I'm going down a road you can't follow.
And do you want to know what the worst part is? What's bugging me even more than the nagging suspicion that, yes, maybe I'm already down that road, maybe I've already turned into someone – something else, that all my efforts to fight this curse were in vain? It's the absence of feelings, emotions, hell, any sense at all. I've gone from being a "wussy", and I know that I have been called that occasionally, to completely numb in less than a day, ever since Uriel…
I've tried screaming. I've tried crying. I've even tried laughing about this whole freak show, but no matter what I do, no matter what I think of, I can't make myself feel anything. It's like I'm watching myself from above – or below - and even though I know what I should feel, what people in my position should be going through - fear, anger, rage, that sort of thing – anything that would make you feel human… make you feel at all…
Is this what it's like to change? Is it already over? Have I already become…
Am I already gone?