Word Prompt: Driven

Warning: Angst, character death


Sam had always been the driven one.

When Sam was six and a half months old, he was driven to pull himself up, chubby, uncoordinated hands clinging to his dad's forearms before forcing his legs to wobble and walk towards Dean. Within months, he was running with enough coordination and agility that even Dean had trouble keeping up with his baby brother. Even then, Dean had said that Sammy had been driven to impress his dad.

When Sam was two, he was driven to speak in and understand complete, elaborate sentences, to help Dean and his dad in interviews. People tend to talk more freely when they think you cannot understand, he said. He barely actually talked, though; communicating outside of the job just was not the Winchester way.

When Sam was four, he was driven to read. Not just children's books, either. By four years old, Sam was reading novels for fun. Dean had never been the best reader and often struggled with school because of it. Learning to read seemed to be Sam's only way of giving back to the older brother who had done so much for him, even if neither of the brothers consciously realized that.

When Sam was eight, he was driven to force the truth of what their dad really did when he left Dean and him alone in motel rooms where the air smelt like dirt, sex, and salt. When he left them alone for days on end. He had been trying to coax the truth out of his brother for years, but the drive held true and, eventually, Dean relented and the reality of the paranormal hung in the air around all of the Winchesters like an everlasting nightmare.

When Sam was twelve, he was driven to hunt with Dad and Dean; to make the job go quicker, to protect them, to be a family. He grabbed his shotgun loaded with rock salt, the one that Dean had given to him on his tenth birthday; a gift for reaching double digits, and silently buckled himself into the backseat of the Impala. Before his dad or Dean even realized that he was there, the roar of the engine filled all of their ears and they were off. After that, Sam gloated himself on his ninja skills.

When Sam was fourteen, he was driven to destroy the fat that his dad had continuously insulted him about, despite both Dean and Bobby having screaming matches with his Dad that Sam was perfectly healthy and even a little underweight. Sam did not believe them either when he heard their voices shake through building. All he could he was his dad wounding him with comments about holding his brother back and being the reason that Dean had been hurt during their last hunt. Sam was driven to prove his dad wrong.

When Sam was eighteen, he was driven to Stanford. He shoved all of his guilt and love for Dean as far down as he could, letting the fire of anger propel him away from his family. From his dad.

When Sam was twenty-two, he was driven to rejoin the hunt with his brother after Jessica had screamed and burned on the ceiling, like his mother. He had a newfound fire flaming in his gut to destroy the monster that had destroyed the one he loved. He did destroy it; the yellow-eyed demon died with a bullet from The Cult driven deep into its body.

When Sam was twenty-five and Dean was rotting in hell, he was driven to do the unthinkable. The pain that erupted within him, the failure that tore through his being, the fire in his heart that died with his brother overwhelmed Sam, took over his entire being. He was driven to drag Dean's knife along his arms, let the blood rise to the surface of his dirtied skin, and seep onto the tile below in buckets. He was driven to tighten the muzzle against the underside of his jaw and to finally pull the trigger.

Sam had always been the driven one.