A/N: This idea started when I listened to Emiliana Torrini's "Gollum's Song" (which, by the way, isn't mine) and I decided I just had to write a Dark!Sam story. I'm still sort of new at this particular category of fanfiction, but we'll see how decent it turns out, eh?

Disclaimer: My Christmas and my birthday have both passed within three weeks of each other and I still have not received any large packages that may or may not contain the entire cult-level television show known as Supernatural, so it still doesn't belong to me... Though Dean and Sam would probably be very grateful for that if they had any idea what I plan for them without the help of big-wig Hollywood producers...


Innocent Massacre

by The Grey Phantom

I walk through the night as the screams of men and women fill the air. If he were here, he would be so disappointed. The stench of decay meets my nostrils; it has become almost natural to my senses, the scent of the hundreds of corpses surrounding me. If he, the other one, was here, he would not have had even a second thought about killing me.

The corpses of the innocent; fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, sisters, and brothers, littered the side walks. The storm drains ran crimson with blood and as the blank eyes of the dead looked up, silently asking me, "why?" All but the children were annihilated in this once great city.

Lilith said the children had potential. From the beginning of her onslaught on the world, Lilith had taught them to spy on their families, betray their friends, to murder each other. She set up miniature slaughter academies where children were rewarded for the deaths they got away with.

Families had started to go into hiding, attempting to escape the destruction, but the corruption brought on by desperation and anarchy had already set in, the backstabbing and throat-slitting started out small but increased to a size that disturbed the thousands of demons that brought in the destruction of the old, and ushered in the new world order.

"New world order", ha, that was a joke, all that was left now was chaos, but they deserved it, every single one of them. They may call me the traitor to my own kind, but really, it was them, the full-blooded humans, they brought it upon themselves.

World leaders had tried to stop the colossal swelling in murders and destruction. And they failed miserably, attempting to blame other countries for their own weakness. They never realized how hopeless survival truly was. The funniest was when they tried to bargain; bargain for their countries, then their families, and eventually, for themselves. Didn't they understand? The demons already had what they wanted, freedom. Freedom from Hell.

None of them mattered though. The only people who mattered were the men and women left in the hunting community. With the collapse of real civilization, only the hunters had any idea what was happening, only they knew how to combat the monsters running rampant through the world. Only the hunters could keep fighting the hopeless crusade. It was ironic, really, how so many of these people dedicated their lives to destroying the evil and supernatural, to hunting, and now they were now the hunted. But they deserved it too. They may be the only thing left to care about now, but they all had it coming to them for years.

No—that wasn't true, Dean never deserved it.

Maybe it was the never the hunters that mattered, maybe it had just been the hunter. The hunters say that I fell, and I tried to make them see reason, make them realize how badly the world needed this, this cleansing, but they were just sanctimonious fanatical pricks, or maybe that was the angels. I tried to make them both understand. They stood there and called me a monster.

Me, the monster? As if they knew the meaning of the word.

They wouldn't listen to me, and that made me realize something, just how hopeless their cause was.

Dean, Dean would listen, I know he would. He always listened. But they wouldn't tell me where I could find him. I remember Bobby's words, the last time I saw him. "Let him be, boy," he said, tears glistening in his eyes, Ellen and Jo watching hesitantly behind him, "it'll break his heart to see ya' like this."

Didn't he understand? Dean needed me; I needed Dean. But then Castiel had to show up. I was just going to let Bobby, Ellen, and Jo, go, but Castiel made them choose, humanity (or what was left of it) or me.

I was disappointed I had to kill. People say it's impossible to kill an angel, but its not. You just have to know where to apply the right pressure. Angels are obsessive hypocrites. Their self-righteous fury at demons for being what they are was just ridiculous. Didn't they see that they were exactly the same? They may be different colors of smoke, with leaders on opposing sides, but they were the same parasite, controlling someone else's meat-suit.

I pulled Castiel right out of his flesh-bag. I did it the same way I used to exorcize demons. Shock flitted across his face, but it didn't last long. Soon the brilliant white smoke was being choked out of Castiel's mouth. When the angel no longer had any hold on the body it inhabited, the bright blue eyes dulled to the same gray color the sky had adopted since humanity's grand fall.

I used to thrust a demon's soul through the ground and back into the deep, dark, confines of Hell. It may have been fitting had I done the same to the angel before me. Instead of bunching my hand into a fist and lowering it to the ground, I flexed my fingers, forcing the smoke that was an Angel of the Lord to convulse as it coalesced into a small swirling mass. The smoke continued to spasm until I closed my fist, I was done. Castiel's vaporous form seemed to collapse in on itself before winking out of existence with a flash that knocked everything in the room back against the walls with a whoosh, everything but me.

Stacks of books, lamps, chairs, tables—everything was thrown against the walls of Bobby's living room. It was unfortunate, really, that Jo thought I was a threat, that I was going to hurt her—but who could blame her? I did come near to it once—she was holding a knife, the demon killing knife, behind her back. When she was thrown against the wall the knife was plunged into the small of her back.

I bet they could have saved her, but they were hunters, they sought vengeance and their own twisted version of justice, first, and saved lives later. They were all the same. Jo was slowly bleeding out with Ellen crying by her crumpled frame. Bobby was trying to circle behind me to reach the gun lying a few feet from me, the Colt.

I could have helped them, probably could have saved Jo too, but they had already decided that I was too far gone, that I had to be put down—like a dog. I gave them a chance; I stood stock still, waiting for Bobby and Ellen to make a choice.

Bobby hesitantly reached down and picked up the gun, to him I was just a wild animal, angry and unpredictable, going to attack at any given moment. Ellen was sobbing as Jo struggled to breathe, but before, Jo's struggling ended and her eyes went dark.

Ellen stood, the knife that had been imbedded in her daughter gaping backside, dripping with a scarlet liquid, the pungent aroma wafting through the room, Jo's blood. Ellen's face would have sent the staunchest and bloodthirsty monster running.

She hesitated for only a moment, just long enough to ask a single question, "why?" before she lunged forward, intent on destroying the only thing she had left to blame, me.

I didn't even think about it; I snapped her neck, without moving a single muscle. Bobby's mouth dropped open wide in shock. I turned to look at him before Ellen's body had even had time to drop. I stared at him, questioningly, as the corpse fell with a thump to the ground. Blank eyes were staring out into oblivion, still searching for the answer to her last words.

Bobby lifted the Colt and leveled it right between my eyes. He honestly thought that pea-shooter could stop me?

I prayed to God—well, I suppose I wasn't really praying to God, per se, he had already made it clear that He wasn't rooting for me anymore, if he ever did to start, what with the attempted smiting by Uriel that started this whole mess. I prayed to, well, to whoever would listen, that Bobby would not try and fight me.

Apparently, no one did listen to my silent pleas; Bobby cocked his gun, pulling back the hammer.

"Boy, this won't solve anything, killing me, here." I was not even listening to the words spilling out of his mouth, I just stood there, Ellen's remains were lying on her side, it was funny, she still looked just as serious and stern as a rotting cadaver as she did as a living thing, Jo, laying behind me, dead eyes staring blankly into space, you could almost imagine she was just deep in thought—if not for the pool of blood surrounding her—and then there was Bobby, standing a few feet in front of me, a gun raised, aiming for the space right between my eyes, he was begging me—for what, I didn't know. It could have been for his life, or maybe, like Ellen, he wanted to just know the answer to the single question, "why?"

He would not understand, could not understand, none of them. Hell, God probably didn't understand.

"I just want to find my brother, Bobby." Bobby stopped talking, mid-sentence, mouth wide-open again. Tears started to cascade down his face and into his scruffy beard again.

"No. Sam, I won't," he choked. It was the first time he had called me by my name in a long time. Since we ended up on opposing sides, I had become "boy" or "idjit". Maybe there was hope for finding Dean, now.

"Please, Bobby." I was begging him and I knew he could hear the devastation in my voice.

"And what if I don't, boy?" Bobby was attempting to hid the anguish in his voice by disguising it in gruffness, "ya' gonna kill me, too?" His question was met with silence for a few moments before I answered.

"I don't want to hurt you, Bobby." For a minute, I think Bobby was seeing the six-year-old me, a little boy who just wants someone's attention, who just wants to be held, and Bobby almost gave in to my request.

"I think Ellen, Jo, and Cas' would disagree with that."

"Bobby, please—"

"Sam, go, just go," Bobby fell on his knees, the Colt dropping to the floor, tears gushing down his face and vanishing in his gray-speckled beard like a fountain, "let me be, Sammy. Let your brother be." Bobby was staring at the ground in front of my feet.

"Its Sam, you're not allowed to call me Sammy." I left without another word. Bobby was not going to tell me where to find Dean and I knew if I stayed any longer I might hurt him.

I continued my search, asking hunters and old friends for help. No one would help me; they only tried to hurt me. And so I killed them. There were so few left, and I killed them.

What was left of the hunters fled, gave up, realized that humanity was nothing more than a lost cause. Now they were hiding, in caves, forests, hidden nooks and crannies, the very places the fiends they used to hunt had lived.

And now I'm here. The remnants of a now nameless metropolis surrounding me. Corpses on the pavement, the sidewalks crimson with blood, a dying sun glaring down without any warmth, broken, empty windows staring down at the carnage before it, all of it was a testimony to the wickedness and power that had ravaged it.

But I will find him. He'll understand. He always understood. He'll help me, he'll protect, just like he promised. He made a promise. He promised me.

He promised.


A/N: So, what did you think? Was it a decent Dark!Sam story? I've got super awesome, awful (in a good way), painful, destructive, and quite possibly explosive ending planned out. This should only be a two or three chapter thing though... But its still plenty of time for me to cause plenty of pain and misery to engulf the world of Supernatural, right? Well, I started with a few one-shots and I seem to be slowly working my way up on the proverbial story-length ladder of fanfiction. Maybe, eventually, we might get more than a two or three shot? Feed back is greatly appreciated!

Until Next Time,

The Grey Phantom