Summary: Post-Devil's Trap. The Winchester brothers learn the hard way that the rules of the game have changed. The war between good and evil has only just begun, giving rise to new allies, new enemies, and truths no one should have to face alone.
Rating: T for violence, language, and mature themes. May fluctuate as the story continues.
Disclaimer: The characters and concepts in this story are the property of Warner Brothers and its affiliates. This is an amateur writing attempt meant for entertainment purposes only.
Author's Notes:Just so we're all clear right from the get-go - I ascribe to the belief that the accident did happen. By making it a vision, the writer's are cheating the audience out of a very tantalizing plot,one where lives could be lost. If you've ever read Stephen King's Misery you know what I mean when I say cheating, although, I'm not going to cut off your foot if you don't.
I'm not a doctor by any means. My grasp of medicine is primitive, so forgive my ignorance.
I don't know how long this will continue for. I have a couple of story ideas planned for it, so bear with me. Enjoy the prologue nonetheless.
Title is subject to change.
"Show me what it's like to be the last one standing.
And teach me wrong from right,
And I'll show you what I can be.
And say it for me, say it to me,
And I'll leave this life behind me.
Say it if it's worth saving me."
-Nickelback, "Savin' Me"
Last One Standing
Prologue
For Sam Winchester, the dream always began in the same way. Darkness descended upon his consciousness, mute and impenetrable, only yielding to a flash of light far off in the distant realms of his mind. Pain followed, burning like an ember against his sinuses; so fierce his eyes watered and his body conceded to its might, fearful that not doing so would cause his skull to split in two.
Senselessness overcame him, and suddenly the pain was gone, replaced with a complacency that usually accompanied the transition into his position as an innocent bystander. He was alone in the long grass of a field, allowing his fingers to trail over the spiny heads of grain as he walked through it. To what, he didn't know. He never knew. All he knew was that after a few steps voices would flood into his consciousness; thousands of voices. Each one a different frequecy and timbre blending together into one frightening sound the whispered through the night.
The wind picked up and he could feel its chilld on the back of his neck, passing through his hair. He could sense eyes upon him immediately, the years of his father's training never far behind in the darkness.
"I can see you..." a voice hissed.
Sam's blood ran cold and he turned around cautiously to face whoever lingered in the dark.
Pale moonlight cascaded upon he and the woman. She was old, staggering through the grass with her joints cracking and creaking underneath her grotesquely hunched spine. A black velvet cloak covered her from head to toe, revealing only two locks of her silver hair that gleamed as brightly as the moon itself as they danced on the wind.
Her spindly fingers clutched a single pocketwatch, holding it at arm's length to get a good look at it. Beneath the cloak, Sam sensed her smiling coldly, as she replaced the watch in her pocket.
"Is it done?" she asked, several of her many voices cracking with the question.
It was then that another voice filled the air, this time deeper and gutteral. Sam couldn't see anyone or anything else in the field, but the second voice filled his ears with a throaty growl, speaking in tongues he couldn't understand.
The woman laughed. "You underestimate them."
"I underestimate no one," the darker voice answered, this time in a language Sam could understand. He had learned Latin when he was a child by order of his father. The wind became fierce and biting, lashing out at both he and the woman. "You did not keep your end of the bargain."
Another laugh, this time more heartily than the first. The woman was mocking this voice. "Keeping the Order at bay was not a part of the deal. Your powerlessness against them makes you weak."
"And your fear of them makes you ignorant," the voice snapped, swooping down upon the woman like a feral demon from one of Sam's less prophetic nightmares. Now there was another figure, this time nothing more than a shadow in the field, and he stood only two feet from the woman.
Sam caught the smell of smoke. His eyes watered. A rush of panic ran through his body as he realized that the grass had caught flame underneath the shadow's feet.
He took a step back. He knew the shadow now.
The fires licked at the woman's robe but did not burn. She backed away from him, body crackling as she did. "My fears are for my own protection."
The scene flickered like lightning again. Sam felt himself falling through time and space, appearing at last in a lavishly decorated sitting room. A fire raged on in the hearth, much too large for the space it had been started in. The wind swept in through the open windows, bringing bucketloads of rain with it.
A woman tripped over the carpet, falling face first into the floor. Her whole body was soaked, leaving her thin and flimsy clothing pasted to her body. She reached out for the fireplace, fingertips several inches from anything that could be used as a weapon.
The stoker flew from its cast iron stand, just making it into her waiting fingertips when a booted foot slammed down on her wrist. The bone cracked when it hit the floor. The woman screamed, drawing herself into a ball.
The man had his back to Sam. He twisted his foot down on her broken joint harder making the woman scream again.
"I DIDN'T DO IT!" she screamed with tears in her eyes, pleading with her attacker. "I SWEAR TO GOD!"
He kicked her in the stomach. Sam winced. He could hear another bone crack from the blow. The woman keeled over, gasping for breath.
The man stepped away from her and moved into the darkness, leaving the woman whimpering softly by the fire. She lifted her head just as the man re-emerged.
Fire glinted against cold steel. The woman's eyes widened at the sight of the blade. She shifted weakly across the floor, not nearly as fast as she should of. The man grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her head back.
Her scream was cut short. The man slashed her neck so quickly the movement was a blur. Blood bubbled from the long incision in her throat, spilling down her chest.
The man threw her to the floor. "That was for Dad," he said.
By that time the vision was already fading, and Sam felt the familiar grip of consciousness capture him, dragging him upwards into awareness.
He gasped, eyes wide. Bright light assaulted his senses and he was in agony. Everything hurt. Blood spilled from nearly every oriface on his face, choking him. He pitched forward, spluttering, only to be restrained by strong hands.
"He's conscious."
"Hey, sweetheart, you with me?" a female voice asked. His eyelid was pried open again and more light streamed in.
"Pupil's blown."
"Dean..." he coughed, drowning in his own blood. "Dean?"
They were digging through his pockets now. He tried to shift away but was pinned down again by more hands. Where the hell did all these people come from? He thought with a groan. Better yet, where was Dean and his dad? Hadn't they been with him when...when...
His mind was drawing a blank. He couldn't remember.
Forgetting all about the pain in his head, Sam started to struggle with the hands that held him down. "DEAN!" he shouted, searching through the crowded place frantically. Red, white and blue lights danced in his vision as police and paramedics swarmed the scene of a horrific car accident.
"Hey, hey, take it easy hun..." the woman was back; that damn, patronizing woman who seemed convinced he was four instead of twenty-two. "You took a nasty blow to the head there sweetie. You gotta lay down and let us do our job and get you better, okay?"
Dean would have punched her in the face by now. But Dean still wasn't there.
"Where's my brother?" he asked, fighting against the pain that seemed all over now. Sitting up wasn't helping much either. The world was spinning and he was along for the ride.
"You've gotta lay down right now."
"I want to know where my brother is," he said, wincing from the growing pain between his eyes. Oh God, not now, he tried to stay focused. Dean. He had to find Dean.
"Sir, you're gonna have to lie down," a male paramedic attempted to get him horizontal, but Sam resisted, shifting anxiously to get a better look through the crowd. "Sir..."
Through the mess of people, Sam could just barely make out another gurney being lead away in the darkness. He squinted, his vision unfocused and churning like a child smearing fingerpaints. He caught a glance, but the body faded quickly from view, blocked out by yet another paramedic. "Dean?" he called, as if his brother could hear him. "DEAN!"
"Get some restraints on him!" the man said, pushing Sam down by the shoulders. "You're going to be alright, son, okay? You're going to be alright..."
His voice was fading. Pain exploded alongSam's sinuses. The lights around him started to blur, flickering like electricity.
The woman in his nightmare screamed long and hard into the night as Sam passed out.
And then the vision began again.
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