No Easy Way Out
Chapter 1
Summary: Set just after 5X03. Sam and Dean have separated and the younger Winchester thinks he has found a way around Lucifer's plans. The devil can't get his permission to possess him if he's too dead to say "Yes", right? Though Lucifer has promised to bring him back if he tries to kill himself, Sam decides to call his bluff.
A/N: So this is my first supernatural fic. I think there'll be 3 chapters but we'll just see how it goes. Rated for suicide, blood and typical Dean swearing.
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Lucifer had risen, the world was ending and Sam had just one goal. Self-destruction.
It was perfectly logical he told himself. He had already screwed up enough for a lifetime – enough for a thousand lifetimes – when he started the apocalypse. And now, Lucifer was topside and could destroy the whole damn world if he fancied it. He was all-powerful. Almost. He still needed Sam's permission to possess him and as long as he kept saying "no" the world would remain relatively safe. Of course, there was still plenty of damage the devil could do but his power was limited since he didn't have his true vessel but, the moment Sam let him in he would wear him to prom. Carrie-style.
So as long as Sam stayed strong, things would be fine but this was Satan they were talking about – the devil himself. Though he had promised not to lie or trick him into saying yes when he gate-crashed his dreams, Sam was certain that the strangely non-threatening Lucifer could still be very persuasive if he chose to. And it was only a matter of time before he somehow made him give in. Even if he could somehow stay strong Sam didn't trust himself enough to take that risk – not after the ordeal with the demon blood the other night at the bar. He considered himself a liability. Even Dean, his own brother, couldn't trust him!
And that's what had led him here, to do something he never thought he could. When the fallen angel had revealed that the younger Winchester was his 'one true vessel', he had also assured Sam that if he killed himself he could just bring him back but the hunter suspected he might have been bluffing. And now Sammy was going to call his bluff. There had to be some way to get around this latest horrible twist of fate and this was the only way he could see. The only way Sam could save the world was to simply not be in it any more.
It made a sick kind of sense really, he thought. He'd always been a screw-up – never as brave as his father, never as strong as Dean. He'd never been good enough. At least this way he would do a little good. Dying to save the word from the wrath of the devil himself sounded as good a way to go as any.
Unfortunately, all his reasoned arguments and logic didn't seem to help Sam's hands stop shaking as he'd hoped they would. He took a deep breath and looked down at the objects he had carefully laid out on the garish motel bed. He couldn't help thinking for a moment that he would have liked to finally die somewhere a little nicer than this place, which he had picked purely because it was cheap and close by. If Sam was honest, he really couldn't care less where he was. What he really wanted was Dean. They'd always said they would never live long enough to be old but there had always been an unspoken assumption between them that if they went out they would do it fighting. Together.
Well, he thought ruefully, that had gone just about as well as most Winchester plans did.
Directing his attention back to the bed, he picked up his cell phone with a slightly trembling hand. He really didn't want to do this. Brushing his bangs out of his eyes with an irritated flick of his head, he pressed speed dial and prepared to speak to Dean for the last time. After the way things had gone last time they'd spoken he was dreading this moment. He remembered Dean's voice telling him they were weaker when they were together, that they should just go their separate ways and tried to convince himself that that meant his older brother would be okay with what he was going to do. But he knew Dean and he knew there was no chance of that happening. Since he was six months old, Dean had raised him, had been his protector and had been his best friend. There was no way he would let something as insignificant as Satan or the apocalypse get in the way of that. But unfortunately, he didn't have a say in this matter.
After ringing for ages, Dean's phone just went to voicemail. Sighing, the younger brother hung up quickly. Not that he had much experience in this sort of situation, but he sort of thought it seemed a bit rude to just leave a voicemail. What would he even say? "Hey there, it's Sam here and I know you said we should go our own ways and never see each other again but I thought I'd just let you know I'm gonna kill myself over here. Kay, bye see you never!"? After trying Dean's other cell, his other, other cell and his other, other, other cell he finally admitted defeat and decided to leave a message.
If he waited until his older brother actually picked up the phone he had a suspicion that his resolve would have weakened and he would be unable to go through with it. He left a message on his phone, trying to hold it together and sound calm and sane and reasonable but he had a feeling that Dean would be able to hear the suppressed sobs he tried to cover up as he said his farewells. He had probably also heard the way he couldn't help stuttering over the word "suicide" – it seemded to make it all real. But it was over with now. There was nothing holding him back. He could do this, he told himself.
He grabbed the innocuous-looking little bottle of pills from the hideous bedspread and took his hunting knife from under his pillow to be extra sure. The sasquatch of a man made his way to the cramped motel bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub holding the bottle with white knuckles. As he shook a handful of pills into his palm, Sam couldn't help feeling a flash of pride with himself at his steady hands. He had made peace with his decision since he really didn't have many other options. At least he would go out on his own terms and ruin Lucifer's plans in the process.
He brushed his long bangs out of his eyes one last time before tossing his hand back and dry-swallowing as many of the little white pills as he could. Quickly, he took out his hunting knife and tried to remain conscious for long enough to make sure he finished the job properly. He dragged the sharp knife vertically down his left arm, all the way from his wrist to the crook of his elbow, leaving a trail of bright crimson blood welling up in its wake. He repeated this action with his other arm before the last of his strength was spent. He could tell the pills were working – he couldn't even feel the pain he knew he ought to from his mutilated arms. Just before he was pulled under into the darkness he thought in surprise for just a split second that even he, who must have seen a hundred deaths in his time as a hunter, was a little shocked by the sheer quantity of blood blossoming from his veins and spreading out across the room.
That's all he had time to think before the darkness of oblivion enveloped him. Giving the youngest Winchester peace at last. It was an unlikely peace: bleeding out and dragged under on the dirty floor of a motel bathroom, but Sam didn't care. He was out. He didn't have to carry on his family's endless, probably pointless crusade against all the evil bastards they fought any longer. Heaven, hell, oblivion? He really didn't care what came next so long as he was free from the Devil's threats, the temptation of demons' blood and his brother's terrible disappointment.
It wasn't that he wanted to die, no every instinct he had was screaming against what he was doing, but he had to for the greater good. A big part of him wished in that second as he lay bleeding out and falling under the waves of nothingness from the drugs that he could just turn his back on this life, become normal, do the whole 'white picket fence' thing but he knew now that wasn't an option. He'd tried to be normal once – and look how that turned out. Now he understood. He could never live a normal life because he wasn't normal and he never would be. Maybe Sam just wasn't meant to be happy.
He welcomed the endless darkness enveloping him.
Unfortunately, the 'endless' darkness seemed to last about two minutes before he regained consciousness.
To his dismay he sat up – in the same grotty bathroom he'd just ended things in. Clearly, Lucifer really hadn't been kidding when he'd said he would bring him back. He looked down to see his horribly marred arms. Except they weren't. They were covered in gross, drying blood but beneath that, his skin was perfect and unbroken. There was no sign there'd been jagged, gaping wounds there just moments ago. Somehow he had been brought back to life all shiny and new. Of course, Sam thought, Lucifer wouldn't want his pretty packaging getting damaged before he 'tried him on'.
Flexing his arms experimentally, the hunter couldn't help the hiss of pain that escaped him. Apparently, the devil's own special brand of kindness got rid of the scars, but not the pain. "Well isn't that just perfect!" Sam said to himself with dangerous levels of sarcasm. He felt like he'd gone five rounds with a monster truck.
He stumbled to his feet and surveyed the wreckage of the bathroom from his impressive height. Oh, there was no way he was getting his security deposit back. The small room looked as if someone had died there. Well they had, just not for long. The off-white tiles were awash in his own bright scarlet blood, as was the side of the bath. In fact, pretty much everything was. Though in his line of work he couldn't afford to get queasy; the sight of his own blood staining the room turned his stomach. He hated it as the sight of it meant he couldn't forget what his blood meant, who he was – Sam Winchester: the boy with demon blood, the blood junkie, the boy who'd caused the damn apocalypse.
What was he meant to do now? Just go on as if things were normal, as if the devil wasn't popping up all over the place in his dreams, as if he wouldn't inevitably say 'yes'? It might take months, years, even decades but at some point he would crumble and the whole world would have to pay the price. No, he told himself. He couldn't give up now, he'd already called Dean, said his goodbyes, there had to be a way he could die. Strangely, the fact he hadn't succeeded had made him far more determined to actually go through with this. He forced himself to think about the situation logically.
Lucifer needed him alive so he could be used as a vessel – he needed his body. So, Sam thought, what if his body was so badly damaged he couldn't fix it. Would that be enough to stop the devil's plans for world domination? Maybe not but he considered it worth a try.
There had to be a way to die that there was no coming back from. Looking around critically Sam realised he was going to have to be very creative for this to work. He was in for a long night. Hopefully, one long last night.
TBC
A/N: Wow sorry, that turned out much darker than I was expecting. Honestly I love Sammy, he is my smol child so I'm not quite sure where this came from! Anyway, thoughts? Should I bother continuing (next chapter would be with Dean) or should I ditch it? Thanks!