"Destiny's Bitch"
by Lisette: Lisette@equinoxium.com
Legalese: The television series, Supernatural, and all related
characters and material belong to a lot of important people. I am not one
of these important people. I
claim ownership solely of the story idea, and no profit will be made by this.
Author's Note: I have to give a huge nod to Faye Dartmouth for
inspiring this tag. Too many times, of late, I've been struck by how many
people want to save Sam, while I'm much more interested in seeing Sam save
himself. Faye seems to be one of the few who share in my desire to see a
return to a self-confident and strong Sam - one who is not only capable, but
strong and able to stand by his brother. Oh - and she also mentioned in a
reply to a review that I should really try writing for this fandom. Yeah,
blame her! And to my faithful Godless Providence readers - don't worry.
I'm merely dabbling and will be returning to my usual haunts in no time!
Timeline: Spoiler alert for "All Hell Breaks Loose Part I"
Brief Description: Supernatural - tag to part one of "All Hell Breaks Loose." A mere moment of time,
stretched into eternity, and for Sam, it was the moment in which months of
uncertainty shifted until he was filled with a blinding, beautiful clarity.
Rating: PG
Destiny's Bitch
It was a split second.
No more, no less.
A mere moment of time, stretched into eternity, and for Sam, it was the
moment in which months of uncertainty, months of terror, anguish, and
helplessness coalesced, shifted, and changed until he was filled with a
blinding, beautiful clarity.
He was standing over Jake's prostrate form, another hapless victim of the
Demon's game, with the rusted bar in hand and he was ready and able to end it.
One strike and Jake would be dead. One strike and Sam would be safe, and
another potential pawn of the Demon would be gone. It didn't matter that
Jake was a good man. It didn't matter that Sam had already come to like
and respect him. In a different time, a different place, he was sure that
they could have been friends. They would have made a strong front against
the demon. Hell, if given the chance, there was every possibility that the
young soldier would have been able to follow through with his plan: get close to
the demon and end it. But though Sam was capable of many things, he
understood with new certainty that going out without a fight wasn't one of them
- and it was one of the most glorious revelations he had ever had.
Jake had killed Ava, snapped her neck with little show of remorse, and Jake
had tried to kill him, too - had almost killed him. The soldier had
stepped right into the Demon's plan, as had Ava before him, and by their actions
they had tried to guarantee that only one of them would leave this ghost town
alive. Jake had been given the gift of amazing strength, and he was a
soldier, but while Jake couldn't have been a soldier for more than five years,
Sam had been trained by one his whole life. John Winchester had raised his
sons to be strong. He had taught them how to fight. He had taught
them how to survive, and right now, every bit of that training was telling him
to finish Jake before the other man had a chance to return the favor. To
kill Jake before he came back another day, stronger, more capable, and ready and
able to finish what he had started. To kill him before he became the
Demon's one strong soldier.
Oh, he knew he should do it. He knew it with every fiber of his being.
Hell, he knew that if Dean were in his place, his brother wouldn't hesitate to
pull the metaphoric trigger.
But Sam wasn't Dean.
Sam wasn't his father.
And Sam certainly wasn't the Demon's little soldier.
For the first time since their father's death, since Jessica's death, Sam
felt a shift within him as he was filled with something that was more than peace
and more than understanding. His life had become a never-ending downward
spiral - one whose origins he couldn't even pinpoint. Sometime after
Jessica, maybe, but certainly before his dad's death. Some point in which
things starting slipping out of his control, so subtly that he didn't even
notice until it was too late. The edges of the tunnel had closed in, and
no matter how hard Sam thrashed against the slick walls, he was further pushed,
pulled, and pummeled down until he had become a weak shell of the man that his
father had raised, and that his brother had always striven to protect.
Somewhere along the way he had become Destiny's bitch, a mere victim of a
fate that he had never asked for, had never wanted. Control had become a
myth - a fantasy - and he felt himself become more and more brittle, where each
new obstacle threatened to destroy his thin shell. Dean, ever observant,
ever devoted, had of course noticed the changes, and in true Dean fashion he had
done the only thing he knew how: he protected. Except with each promise to
protect him, to keep him from harm, to save him, Sam found the walls
growing more slick and the tunnel more narrow. Dean wanted to save him,
but each vow only drove him deeper, hollowed him out more... destroyed him.
Sam was dying inside, day by day as he was buffeted by the winds of Destiny,
never in control of his own Fate. He was dying a slow, painful death, and
soon there would be nothing left to save. Even if his brother managed to
keep his promise, managed to somehow keep the Demon from getting him, it would
still be too late and Sam would already be dead, though his body continued to
breathe. For in this one beautiful, glorious moment Sam finally understood
that the only way to survive this was for Sam to save himself.
What he felt now was euphoria. Pure, unrestrained euphoria.
His shoulder was most likely dislocated, and his body was crying out in
agony. He was hungry, thirsty, and exhausted. There was mud on his
clothes, blood on his skin, and the rusted iron bar was a lance of ice in his
raised hand. The air breathed its chilly breath against his cheeks, and
yet for the first time in a long time, Sam felt warm. Sam felt good.
Sam felt in control.
There were still questions that needed answers: Had he really been infected
by the Demon's blood? Was that the true source of his visions? What
was his true power? Could he control demons like Ava? What of
his one bout of telekinesis back in Michigan? And perhaps most
importantly, why did it seem as though his mother had known the demon? Why
had he been chosen?
But they were questions that could wait because in this moment, none of that
mattered. The only thing that did matter was the realization, the
understanding, that no matter what the demon had done in the past, it
didn't have absolute power over him. Sam was still in control of himself,
could still make decisions for himself... he could save himself.
In fact, he had already saved himself. Ava had made the choice to start
killing, and Jake had followed suit. Jake had attacked him, and yet Sam
had persevered. No one had helped Sam but himself, and while in the grand
scheme of things he knew this to be a small victory, it was still a desperately
needed victory all the same, because now Sam knew that he could do this.
He could take back control. He could steer his life down a course that was
of his choosing.
Sam was done being someone else's victim.
It was a split second.
No more, no less, and yet in that second everything had changed.
Sam had changed.
He lowered the iron bar and tossed it into the dirt. He had been
trained to kill, and Sam knew that in self-defense he could take a life, but
this wasn't self defense. Jake was down and out, dead to the world, and
though he may later come to regret this decision, Sam turned from the
unconscious man - and froze as he heard his name called out in a voice that he
would always know.
Dean.
Without realizing it, something tore free and Sam felt every hurt disappear.
He was moving forward, his feet swiftly obeying the commands of his heart even
as his mind tried to process the fact that his brother had come. It was a
stupid thought, for of course his brother had come. Dean had never
once failed him, and this time was no different, no matter how impossible it
seemed.
And then Dean was there, rounding a corner with Bobby by his side, and they
were armed and together and they were there. Sam knew that he had a
big, stupid grin on his face but he didn't care because his earlier elation was
still there from his moment of clarity, the euphoria carrying him forward on
stumbling feet. He finally understood, finally recognized that he was once
more in control of his own destiny, and that he could save himself - had
saved himself. He opened his mouth to tell Dean this, to tell his brother
that everything was going to be okay, that he didn't have to worry because Sam
wasn't going to go evil, and Dean wouldn't have to kill him because he could
save himself.
But then Dean's face changed. His eyes grew wide and scared, and his
smile morphed into a frightened warning that Sam barely had time to understand
before his world exploded.
If his moment of clarity had lasted an eternity, the agony of this one
blotted out all time until it held no meaning. The strangest part was that
the euphoria somehow survived the pain and carried over into the after.
Dean was there, close in a way that was not always allowed, and his breath was
fanning over Sam's cheek as he murmured words that soothed a soul that had been
bruised, and beaten, and recently mended. There were the familiar promises
of protection, of Dean wanting to save Sam, and this time the promises didn't
hurt, or tear. They wouldn't scar, because this time Sam had already saved
himself.
But then Sam died, and seriously, wasn't the irony just a bitch?
The End
