AN: Hey guys. This is something I've been thinking about doing ever since I wrote the Arrivals stories. I thought that the original fic had moved way too fast, and so I got the idea into my head to rewrite it. Or to revamp it. Not sure which this is considering I went in an entirely different direction with this. Needless to say none of the original Arrivals!Verse exists now. I deleted it all because I felt I could do so much more with it. Either way, I hope y'all enjoy! Please leave me some feedback if you liked it :D Or even if you didn't! Reviews are love, reviews are life.
Disclaimer: Not mine, I promise.
He felt it suddenly. Like a violent jerk to his very core.
It was a pull, and it was dragging him towards the edges of the cage.
Lucifer's howl of anger blew his eardrums, and he could feel the blood trickling down the sides of his face, but he ignored it, trying to make sense of the fact that he wasn't being viciously cut open anymore, and that Lucifer's cold grasp was no longer around his throat. Instead he was being hauled towards a light.
Not like Lucifer's light. It wasn't nearly as...frightening.
This light felt warm, and safe.
For a terrifying second Sam wondered if he was finally getting an end to the centuries of torture he'd endured. But that wouldn't make sense, considering there was no way out of the cage. No way out.
But just as if to prove him wrong, he was suddenly on the other side of the cage.
He could feel the vibrations of Lucifer angrily throwing himself against the walls, screaming something that Sam couldn't hear as he glanced back. But a realization hit him then. He was out of the cage. Still in Hell, but...but out of the cage. Away from Lucifer. The other demons that surrounded him didn't even phase him now as he crawled towards something.
He didn't know if it was the exit, but it was away from the cage.
It was towards something different.
He gripped the grimy ground, pulling himself forward a few more feet before feeling the fight leave him. It occurred to him that he could hear again, and he glanced around, finding himself in a less populated area. Closing his eyes, he lay his head against the ground, thinking for the first time in probably a decade of Dean.
Dean...a figure that he couldn't remember.
A faceless person in his mind, but somehow the only thing that had managed to spur him through the endless hours of torture that Lucifer had inflicted on him. He liked to think that at some point he and Dean had been close. Close enough to have such a strong relationship. But there was nothing left for him now. It had been burned away by Lucifer's light.
There was just him. Sam. And even that was beginning to grow fuzzy.
Curling in on himself, he prayed to whatever beings were out there to let him die. To let him finally rest and exist no longer. For at least, with that, he wouldn't have to get up and pull himself through the dirt and grime aimlessly. He felt himself slipping away and with a peaceful sigh, he fell into oblivion.
When he came to next (and he found he was surprised he even woke up), Sam found himself laying in a field. Blinking, he made an attempt to sit up, but his limbs wouldn't respond. His arms and legs felt like they were being weighed down by anvils. Groaning, he didn't know how, but he managed to turn himself onto his back. It was then that he realized that he was barely clothed.
Was he...was he out?
Before he could answer this himself, a figure appeared in his line of sight, a dark shadow against the bright sunlight.
"Whoa there, buddy. You might not wanna try movin' just yet." The formless black space spoke.
He opened his mouth to speak, but his throat was so dry and unused to talking, that only a pained squeak escaped. Furrowing his brow, he tried again, and managed a hoarse, "Where...?"
"You're just outside'a Sioux Falls, South Dakota, son. Any idea how you ended up out here?"
The name felt like it should have meant something to him, but Sam couldn't quite place it. Like a serious case of déjà vu except he could barely understand the concept. The stranger watched him curiously, a hand on his hip. Sam stared back for a moment before making the decision to try to sit up.
"Hold on there, kid. Lemme help you with that. EMT'll be here soon anyways."
A hand braced his back, treading carefully over the heavily scarred skin.
Sam took a moment to glance down at himself, wondering just how almost ninety percent of him had become long, jagged scars. They covered his arms, legs, torso, and judging by the questioning glance the man was giving him, probably his back too. He vaguely remembered something about a cage -
The stranger was shocked to see the kid suddenly go still, eyes glossing over as if he were remembering something bad. He removed his hand, wondering if that had done it. His brother had been a veteran in the army, and had come back with something the doctors had called PTSD. Maybe this guy was like that.
But just like that, the kid was back.
"S..sorry...spaced out." Sam murmured, shaking away memories of Lucifer cutting each and every one of these marks into him. They were vivid, and terrifying, and dully Sam wondered how he was even up and about right now (if one could even considering sitting up as being "up and about").
"It's okay, kid. You remember how you ended up here?"
Glancing up at the man, who Sam realized during his episode must of backed up and stood straight again. He was older, definitely in his sixties, and any attempt at yelling at him for referring to Sam as "kid" died on his lips. He shook his head lightly, glancing back towards himself, "Musta sleep-walked, or something." He lied easily.
Who had he been, before this, to have lying come so easily to him?
"Don't think I've ever seen you around these parts. What's your name?"
Sam stared back up at the stranger, "Sam." He said, but something else came ot his mind. A second name, "Sam Winchester." He had no idea where the last part came from, but it felt like it fit there. Like it belonged after Sam. Maybe it was his last name? His fingers itched for a keyboard and a computer, wishing that he could look the name up.
"Well Sam, you're definitely quick ta come 'round." The man nodded towards him, "You got your color back." With a glanced towards where Sam guessed the ambulance was supposed to be coming from, the man sighed and sat himself down on the grass, "The name's Francis." The grey-haired man, Francis, said with a small grin, "I own the orchard you're currently sitting in."
Sam eyed the trees that surrounded the small clearing they sat in, realizing that apples hung from the gently swaying branches. The movement mesmerized him for a moment, before he suddenly heard a loud noise. Nearly jumping out of his skin, his gaze flew to the single strip of road that led out of the clearing, seeing a large white ambulance speeding over the gravel.
"That'd be the paramedics. Ya seemed okay, kid, but I just wanted to be sure."
Sam sat stock still as a blanket was thrown around his shoulders, and an unfamiliar man knelt in front of him, shining a bright light into his wide eyes.
"Hey there. My names Mike. I'm a paramedic. Care to tell me your name?"
Suddenly uncomfortable, Sam murmured, "Sam."
A blood pressure cuff slid up his arm before Mike spoke again, "Got a last name, Sam?"
As the cuff tightened around his arm, Sam suddenly felt like a spooked rabbit. He needed to get out of here, to run, to fight. He had to physically resist the urge to uppercut the paramedic and sprint deeper into the trees. The man must have heard his breathing pick up, though, because he was suddenly calling to the other medic that was leaning on the ambulance talking to Francis.
"Hey Terry, get over here. Think he's having a panic attack."
A woman with long blonde hair was suddenly in his quickly narrowing field of vision, a kind smile on her face.
"Heya there, Sammy. It's alright." She said calmly, evenly, "I want you to breathe with me, okay? Count to ten as you breathe in through your nose, and to fifteen as you breathe out through your mouth. Got it?" When she received a shaky nod, she smiled brighter, "Okay, good."
Slowly, with her help, Sam could feel himself calming down, but he still couldn't get rid of the feeling that he needed to get out of here.
"Do you have a history of anxiety, Sam?" Terry asked gently as she removed the cuff from his arm.
Sam nodded slowly, knowing that he was lying, but some part of him thought it was necessary, "Y-yeah...just didn't take my meds today." He gave her a small smile as he felt his breathing finally slowing down to normal again.
"Can you tell me how you ended up out here, Sam?" Mike asked, kneeling next to Terry again.
"Probably sleep-walked. Used to have a problem with it a lot, but with the meds it stopped."
Nodding, Mike straightened, "Well, it seems like Sam here is okay. There's no sign of concussion, and his bp and heart rate are all normal. Other than the massive amount of scarring, he seems perfectly healthy." The paramedic stated, looking towards Francis, "Just be sure that you take your medication from now on, Sam. And for God sakes, Frank, can you at least give the boy your extra set of work clothes?"
Francis gave a chuckle before nodding, "Yeah, I think I got it from here. Thanks for coming out here, fellas. Sorry that it wasn't something more serious."
"Sure thing, Francis. And Sam," Terry said, looking towards the man who was now standing with the blanket wrapped around his waist, "If your sleep walking problem persists, be sure to tell your doctor. It could be a sign that your medication isn't strong enough." With that, she headed back into the ambulance, Mike soon following suit.
As he watched them drive away, he could hear Francis shuffling around in the truck that Sam was just now noticing was there. He started violently as a pair of dark pants were shoved into his hands, as well as a plaid button up t-shirt. Thanking the man, Sam quickly brushed what were left of his clothes off of himself and slipped the pants on. Standing, he made quick work of buttoning up the shirt, feeling as though he'd done this many times before.
"You want a ride back into town, or...?" Francis questioned, gesturing towards his truck, "I didn't see no other vehicles out here, so I imagine you probably walked."
Sam nodded, flashing a small smile, "Yeah...thanks for everything."
The older man said nothing but silently got into the truck and waited for Sam to get in.
"I couldn't just leave you lyin' there." The man said as they began driving down the bumpy dirt road, "Just didn't seem right. Plus I get a lot of kids comin' in here late at night, some of 'em get lost. Wanted to make sure you weren't one of them, and that your parents weren't missin' you." Francis cast a curious glance over to him as he navigated the narrow path, "How old are ya anyway, kid?"
Sam was thrown by the sudden question, having just been silently listening to the man drone on as he drove. How old was he? He had no memories of before the cage, and before when he woke up in the field...it felt like he was in his twenties, but he couldn't be sure because time was funny in the cage, in Hell.
"I..honestly don't know." He murmured, looking through the windshield with a frown on his face, "I guess I lost track."
He received a strange look in response, but Francis said nothing.
As they neared Sioux Falls, Sam saw something in the distance that made something in his addled brain twitch. Narrowing his gaze, he realized the sign read "Singer Salvage Yard". Blinking as random spots danced across his vision, Sam motioned towards that junkyard.
"Can you drop me there?"
Francis glanced at him, "Ya got something to do with ol' Bobby?"
Sam thought the name sounded familiar.
"Yeah." He murmured, lost in thought.
As the truck rolled to a stop, Sam slowly opened the door, feeling oddly nostalgic as he stared at the expansive scrap yard. He shut the door behind him, wincing as the gravel cut into his bare feet. He could hear Francis talking to him, but wasn't quite sure what he was saying as his vision was filling with dark spots.
He turned and waved to the man, "Thanks for all your help, Francis."
"You just be careful, kid. I live just inside town if ya need anything else."
And like that, the man was gone.
Sam's gaze was left to travel back towards the salvage yard. Singer's...So maybe he was looking for a Bobby Singer? The name sent another wave of the curious dark spots dancing across his eyesight. He briefly wondered what those were for (maybe he was remembering something?) but couldn't put his attention on it as someone walked out of the house that sat in the middle of the yard.
Their gazes met, and the stranger's eyes went wide.
"Sammy?"
TBC