Becoming the Rider
Nine Years Later
Nine years ago, Sam Winchester made a deal to save the people he loved most. In those nine years, he'd made the little time he had left count and mean something. He had grown into a fine hunter. He was trained in self-defense thanks to John and Dean, he was darn good marksman with a gun and deadly with knives.
Instead of a car, he owned a motorcycle he'd made himself and called Grace. It was black and painted with flames. It was his pride and joy and he allowed no one to ride it but him. His skills on the bike were legendary and he could've become a professional stunt rider if he wanted. His skills on the bike weren't the only thing that was legendary. Sam had an impossible streak of luck. He survived most things that would've put most hunters six feet under.
One such incident was when he was sixteen. He, Dean, John and Bobby had been hunting something particularly nasty, and when the others had fallen behind, Sam had gone after it. Much to their horror, while he had returned victorious, he was badly injured. His wounds should've been fatal, but he was alive and after a few days in the hospital, he was well on the road to recovery.
The drive to hotel was silent for a while until Sam broke it, "So, what're we doing next?" he asked, casually.
"We aren't doing anything. You are going to rest up when we get to the hotel for the next two weeks and that's an order," said John, sternly.
Sam sighed. "Okay, fine. Whatever. But really, guys, I'm fine."
That statement earned him a bunch of looks from the others that said, "Fine? You're fine? Are you crazy, Sam Winchester?"
"You've got an insane definition of the word 'fine.' I mean, no offense Sammy, but you should be taking a dirt nap after that last hunt," said Dean, sternly. "It's a miracle you're even still breathing air! How in the heck did you even pull that crazy stunt off?"
Sam just shrugged and put on an unconcerned face. "I got lucky," he lied, trying to keep his tone casual.
Bobby shook his head. "It's not just luck. You know, I wouldn't be surprised if you have an angel looking after you, boy."
Sam shrugged again and turned to look outside the window. "Maybe it's something else," he whispered.
Sam had a pretty clear idea of why he wasn't dead and why he was always pulling through. Bobby was right. It wasn't luck. If Sam was right about his suspicions, he had no angel looking after him. It was Mephistopheles, keeping him alive until he could become Ghost Rider in two years. It was on the tip of his tongue to say that, but he knew he didn't dare.
On October 31, 2001 the date that Sam had been dreading for nine years had finally come. Sam was eighteen years old and his deadline merely a few hours away, his bag was packed and he was heading out the door.
Knowing he couldn't just leave without some kind of explanation, he'd shown his father a perfectly forged acceptance letter to Stanford and after Sam had pushed John's buttons, they'd gotten into a huge fight which had resulted in John expelling Sam from home, which was what Sam had wanted in the first place. Getting kicked out was the only way he wouldn't be looked for when he left to become the Ghost Rider or so he hoped.
His father's yelling he could take, but it was Dean's reaction that had hurt most. He was tying his bag to his bike when Dean came out.
"You're leaving?"
Sam sighed as he turned around and faced his older brother.
Dean, please don't make this any harder than it has to be.
"Yeah, I'm leaving. I got a full ride to Stanford," he said.
He half expected Dean to say to go for it, or that he was proud or something like that, but Dean seemed to take John's side of the argument for once. He looked angry and hurt, not that Sam could blame him. Heck, if he were in Dean's shoes, he'd probably be mad too.
"Sammy, what on earth is going on with you? Out of the blue you're suddenly heading off to college? You never said a word about wanting to go before! You can't just leave us!"
Sam put on his best angry face. "Oh no? Tell that to Dad. He's the one who said if I go, I should stay gone, so I'm just following orders."
"Sam, come on! This is ridiculous," said Dean, sounding exasperated.
Sam snorted. "So, it's ridiculous that I want to have a life of my own? It's ridiculous that I want something other than hunting? Well, thanks a lot for telling me that, Dean. It makes this all the more easier!"
"That's not what I meant and you know it!"
Sam sighed again. "Look, I know you may not understand, but this is what I want," he lied. "I'm not cut out for this kind of life. I'm not meant to be a hunter." It was beyond ironic that they thought he was leaving because he wanted out of the hunter's life, but in fact, he was going to take his lifestyle to a whole new level.
Dean snorted. "You never complained about it before."
"That was because I knew you'd take it badly if I even gave the slightest hint that I wanted a normal life," he snapped. Truth was, while there were times he didn't like the hunt, he didn't want to change the way they lived because they were together. But he had to lie if he wanted to be able to leave. "Dean, look at us! The weapons training, the melting of silver into bullets, we've been raised like warriors! Dad's on this crazy quest for revenge for Mom's killer and although it's been eighteen years, we still haven't found the darn thing!"
"So, you're just going to ditch us for some normal, apple-pie life?" demanded Dean.
Sam glared at him. "I'm not ditching you and I'm going to have a safe life. You know that when I told Dad I was scared of the thing in my closet, he gave me a 45.? I was nine years old and he was supposed to tell me to not be afraid of the dark!"
"Don't be afraid of the dark? What, are you kidding me?" said Dean, incredulously. "Of course you should be afraid of the dark! You know what's out there!"
"That's not the point!" shouted Sam. "I'm tired of being treated like a soldier, I'm tired of constantly having to watch my back, and I'm tired of hunting and doing this stuff for nothing!" It was killing Sam to say all this, and it shocked him at how easily the lies were rolling off his tongue. But he had to this. With a heavy heart, he moved in for the kill. The thing he knew would push Dean away. "Do you honestly think Mom would've wanted this for us? Killing the thing that killed her isn't going to bring her back! She'll still be gone. If we didn't have pictures, I wouldn't even know what she looks like!"
The truth of the matter was, while Sam had never known his mother as she'd died when he was six months old by an unknown supernatural creature, he was sure that she wouldn't have wanted her children to be raised in the life. Despite never knowing her, Sam did love his mother and while he didn't want revenge as much as John did, he did want it. It pained him to say what he had about Mary, but what was he supposed to do?
Sam's statement did the trick as Dean grabbed the lapels of Sam's jacket and looked furious.
"Don't talk about her like that! You want to leave, so badly? Then fine, leave!" he yelled.
Dean released Sam, before he stormed back inside and slammed the door shut, not seeing the look Sam's face, one of both satisfaction and pain.
While Sam wished he didn't have to part from his loved ones like this, he was glad it had been done as it meant they wouldn't go looking for him. If they stayed away from him for the foreseeable future, they'd be safe, which was all he wanted.
I'm sorry, Dean, but I have to do this. If I could tell you the truth, I would, but I can't. If leaving you means that you stay alive, then so be it. I hope you and Dad can forgive me one day.
Without looking back, Sam got onto his motorcycle. He was unable to restrain his tears as he drove away into the night. His first stop was Bobby's. Bobby was the only man he trusted as much as Dean and Dad.
He knocked on the door and was met by a tired-looking Bobby Singer. "Sam? Geez, it's a little late for a social call, isn't it?" he said, grumpily.
Sam looked apologetic and felt guilty for waking him. "Sorry about that. I know it's pretty late, but I didn't know who else to go to."
Bobby's face softened and his grumpiness vanished. "Don't worry about it, kiddo," he said. "You know I'm always there for you."
Sam smiled a little. "Thanks."
"Please, come on in," said Bobby.
"I can't, I just came to ask a favor of you," said Sam. He swallowed painfully. "Will you promise you'll look after Dad and Dean for me?"
Bobby stared and looked puzzled. "Sure, Sam. But, mind if I ask what's going on? Are you going somewhere?"
Sam sighed. "Have you ever heard of the Ghost Rider?"
"Just a couple of times in legends, but what—oh, Samuel Winchester!" said Bobby, looking appalled as he caught on. "Tell me you didn't!"
Sam shook his head. "I never told anyone this, but Dad and Dean died when I was eight years old. We were walking back to the motel after seeing a movie and there was this creep with a gun. You can guess what happened after that. They were dead because they were trying to protect me. A stranger came and offered me a deal and I took it. What else could I have done?"
Bobby sighed and pained look crossed his face. "I can't really blame you for making the deal, then. Does John and Dean know about this?"
Sam shook his head again. "No. Their memories of dying were modified that night and they think I'm going to Stanford and law school on a full ride," he admitted. "We had a pretty big fight about it, actually."
Bobby looked horrified. "You lied to them? Why?"
"I had to. I didn't want to, but I had to. They never would've let me go if they knew."
"You're darn right! And what's to stop me from telling them right now?" he demanded.
Sam looked horrified and shook his head. "Bobby, no! They can't know!"
"Sam—"
"I'm doing this for them," he interrupted. "It's better this way. It's better if I go."
Bobby's eyes filled with tears as he cupped Sam's face. "Better for whom, Sam? Do you really think so little of yourself? How do you think they're going to feel if they find out about what you've done? Whether I tell them or not, sooner or later, they will find out."
Sam didn't reply for a moment. Instead of responding to Bobby's question, he said, "I have to meet with the stranger. I don't know if I'm ever going to see them again. Bobby, please, I need to know they're going to be okay. Don't tell them about the deal and watch out for them for me, please."
Bobby sighed. "Okay, I promise. But only if that if the time comes, you tell them yourself."
Sam nodded and they shared a tight embrace.
"I love you, Uncle Bobby," whispered Sam.
Bobby's grip on Sam tightened. He hadn't been called 'Uncle Bobby' by John's boys since they were kids. "I love you too, Sam. You keep in touch with me and remember that my door's always open for you, you hear?"
"I will," he promised.
After another moment, Sam finally got out of Bobby's embrace and with a heavy heart; he rode off to meet his fate.
At exactly midnight, he arrived at the rendezvous point.
It was the alley where Sam had made the deal ten years ago. This was the first time in years that Sam had been back.
This is where it all began and now as this chapter in the story ends, another begins, thought Sam, as he slowed down and parked his bike. He found not Mephistopheles, but a demon waiting for him. The demon was male and could've passed for a normal human, except its eyes were red.
"Well, this is unexpected," said Sam, as he got off his bike. "Where's Mephistopheles?"
"I'm here on his orders," said the demon. "He cannot appear at this moment. I'm here to speak and act on his behalf."
Sam nodded, deciding to just go with it. "Can he hear everything we're saying?"
"Yes and he can speak through me if he so chooses."
"Okay, fine. So, Mephistopheles, where've you been all this time, dare I ask?"
The demon's eyes turned black and then when it spoke, its voice sounded distorted, like a mixture of the demon's voice and Mephistopheles's.
"Oh, I've always been here, Sammy, all along," he said.
"Don't call me Sammy," growled Sam. Only Dean was allowed to call him that, no one else.
Mephistopheles ignored him as the demon walked around Sammy grinning like the cat who ate the canary. "Phoenix, Houston, Blue Earth, you name it. All of your hunts and your lucky breaks," he said. "All your riding, the stunts, I've always been there."
"I knew it. It was you, keeping me alive," said Sam, as the two of them encircled one another like a pair of wolves.
He nodded. "I couldn't let my prize creation go to waste, now could I? But to be honest, my role was small. I may have kept you alive, but you were the one who kept pushing yourself forward. So, really it's all you, Sam. You're the best and I'm your greatest fan. To see how far you've come since that night ten years ago, oh, it makes me so proud, it's like watching an investment that keeps growing and growing until the day you cash it in and that day is today, Sammy."
"Glad to know I've made you happy," said Sam, coldly. While he was grateful for what Mephistopheles had done—restoring his father and brother to life, Sam didn't full trust him as Mephistopheles was still a dark creature from hell, no matter what he'd done. "Are we going to do this or not?"
"Of course. Just get on your bike and everything will take care of itself. And remember Sam, forget about friends, forget about family and forget about love. You're mine now and you can't get distracted while working."
Sam highly doubted he was ever going to forget any of that or get distracted, but he knew he was going to have to stay away as much as he could, for all their sakes. He then got on his bike and braced himself for the inevitable.
Suddenly, the bike seemed to be possessed as it took off by itself, going at two hundred miles an hour. It was so fast that Sam felt like his face was being peeled off in the wind. The bike drove through the streets, leaving behind destruction in its wake. It kept driving until it came to the entrance of empty warehouse and the Sam was suddenly thrown off and landed painfully on the ground of the building before he staggered to his feet.
Then the transformation from human to Ghost Rider began. Sam let out a painful scream as fire surged through his system. Everything hurt worse than anything Sam had ever felt. He felt like he was being burned alive and was on the verge of begging for death when the pain finally ended. The transformation was complete, he was the Ghost Rider.
It was amazing and yet strange all at the same time to be the Rider. Sam felt powerful and stronger than he had ever been in his life. He whistled for his bike. The bike blazed on over to him and then he placed hands on the bike, changing its form until it looked more like a Ghost Rider's bike. It was now black and silver with a skull on the front and fire was blazing in the now pure metal tires.
Sam then got on his bike and drove off, not knowing where he was going until he heard a young girl's scream. He followed the sound of the scream until he found a young girl pinned to a wall by some punk with a knife who was trying to take her purse.
Sam let out a murderous roar as he rode in. His appearance made the punk and the girl freeze. The punk, in his fear, released the girl and then Sam beckoned for her to go while she had the chance. The girl fled, but not before she shot Sam a grateful look and said, "Thanks," leaving Sam alone with the punk.
The punk was up against the wall with fear as Sam pointed to him and said, "You. Guilty." He picked up the punk by the lapels of his jacket and lifted him up. He didn't really know what he was doing, but he was doing it. "Look into my eyes."
The punk then stabbed Sam's arm with his knife, only to find that the blade had melted and Sam didn't seem to be the least bit bothered by it.
"Your soul is stained by the blood of the innocent," said Sam. "Feel their pain."
Power surged through Sam as he made the punk experience all the pain he ever inflicted on innocent lives and searing his soul. The punk let out a torturous scream before he passed out, now catatonic.
Sam left the punk there and drove off as the sun was starting to rise. He didn't know where he was going, but it wasn't anywhere he'd been before. He stopped his bike when he came to a cemetery and then fell to his knees as the sun's rays hit him. Transforming back into a human was just as painful as turning into Ghost Rider in the first place.
When at last, the pain finally ended, Sam was lying on his stomach, breathing hard and feeling exhausted beyond belief. The last thing he saw before he passed out was an old man in cowboy attire and carrying a shovel who said, "Morning, Bonehead."
XXX
Hours later, Sam woke up in a cemetery chapel.
It was filled with beautiful stained glass windows with pictures of angels, shelves of books and bunch of other stuff Sam had only seen a few religious hunters have. He was lying on a bed that was quite comfortable. Sam closed his eyes again, as he lay there, breathing slowly as he was feeling like complete and utter crap. He was parched of thirst; he had a splitting headache and felt like his skull was still on fire from his transformation.
He was tempted to stay there a while longer, but when he opened his eyes again, he saw that on the bedside, there were five cups of ice water along with a large pitcher full of ice water and some Advil. Someone had anticipated his needs. After sitting up, Sam drank all the water and took the pills without hesitation and felt much better. Sitting at his feet was his bag, and his few possessions he'd packed inside seemed to be perfectly intact, much to his relief.
Slowly, he got to his feet, slung his bag over his shoulder and then he headed out into the cemetery. Standing beside one of the graves outside and leaning on his shovel was the old man from before.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Yeah, I'm good. Feel like my skull's on fire, but I'm good," said Sam, sarcastically. He was a little cranky after last night's torturous events. He hadn't expected it to be that painful or exhausting. He didn't mean to sound so rude, but the man didn't appear to be the least bit bothered by it.
The old man just laughed. "Figured as much," he said.
Sam just nodded, not sure if he believed him or not. "Right, well, sorry about the rudeness. Thanks for the water and Advil, I appreciate it." He frowned when he saw his motorcycle wasn't where he parked it. "Have you seen my bike?"
The old man smirked.
"Did I say something funny?" asked Sam, wearily.
"Ironic," he corrected. "We're big on irony around here." He pointed to a little shed a few feet away. "It's in the shed."
"Thanks, again," said Sam, gratefully. He was about to go get his bike, silently praying it didn't still look like hellfire had changed it, when he was stopped in his tracks.
"It does," said the old man.
Sam stared and blinked. "What?"
"Wondering if your bike looks normal? It does," he said. "And in case you're wondering, last night did happen and it will happen again."
Sam nodded. So, this man knew about his little condition. It didn't matter. He was just glad the night was over for the moment. "Yeah, I figured as much." He ran his fingers through his hair. "This is going to sound nuts, but where exactly am I? And who are you?"
"Considering what you went through, your questions are not nuts, kid. You're just outside of Denver, Colorado." he replied. "The name's Carter Slade. I'm the caretaker of this cemetery and your predecessor."
Sam stared as his brain processed his information. Not only had he done some crazy stuff last night, but he managed to drive so far in just one night, and he was meeting his predecessor in the Ghost Rider business.
"You're really my predecessor?" he asked, slowly.
He nodded. "I can only change one more time, but yes. I made the deal a long time ago, just like you. I've been waiting for this day to come ever since the night you made that deal. What's your name, kid?"
"Sam Winchester," he said, as they shook hands. "How'd you know about me?"
"I have my ways," said Slade. He frowned. "You're bleeding."
"What?" Sam looked and saw his jacket sleeve was damaged and shoulder was cut from the punk's knife. "Ah, man." This was one of his favorite jackets. He covered his wound. "I'm fine. It's just a scratch. I've had worse."
Slade put down his shovel. "Doesn't matter if you've had worse, it still needs attention. Come on inside. I'll fix you up."
Sam decided not to argue as he followed Slade into the house.
Within moments, Sam found himself in a chair with his shirt off as Slade mended his wound and jacket. He found Slade to be of good conversation and they were friends before an hour had passed. They ended up talking more over breakfast as Sam was hungry and Slade already some food ready. Sam insisted on cleaning up afterward in repayment for Slade's courtesy and they got on the subject of Sam's new "condition."
Slade was more than happy to explain about the Ghost Rider curse. "The Rider is the devil's bounty hunter, sent to hunt down any who escape from perdition."
Sam frowned as his eyes widened. "Wait, you're telling me I sold my soul to the devil?"
Slade nodded. "He goes by many names and not everyone knows them all. His given name is Lucifer, but now and then he calls himself Mephistopheles."
Sam mentally smacked himself. How could he have been so blind? His intentions had been good ones, but John would've called his son stupid if he'd known his son had sold his soul to devil himself. He felt so stupid, but there was nothing to be done about it now.
"Why couldn't he appear to me in his true form?" asked Sam, confused. "When was he locked up? He can't break free, can he?"
"One question at a time. Lucifer was locked up a long time. Only by finding his true vessel and if the sixty-six seals imprisoning him are broken, can Lucifer fully return and start the apocalypse," said Slade. "Or if he gets his hands on enough souls. But I wouldn't worry about it too much, kid. The seals holding him in are powerful ones and angels—even fallen ones—can't take a human vessel without the vessel's consent and their vessels are rare."
"Good to know," said Sam. He closed eyes as a flashback of last night hit him. "I remember now. Last night, there was this punk trying to harm a girl and I could see all the wrong he'd ever done. I just turned it all back on him."
Slade nodded. "That's a power called the Penance Stare. It sears the souls of the wicked and often renders the victim catatonic or if they're evil enough, comatose," he explained. "It's a Ghost Rider's most powerful weapon. All the Riders have it. But I must admit, this is the first time that a giant hunter of the supernatural has ever become the Ghost Rider. Your training and experience will make you stronger."
Sam smiled a little. "Yeah." If it wasn't for all his years of hunting and training, Sam didn't think he wouldn't be half the man he was now. He sighed as Slade finished mending his wound. "Carter, what I've done…selling my soul and becoming Ghost Rider, does that mean that I'm evil?" It was a thought that had been nagging at him for ten years now.
"Good grief, no," said Slade, looking surprised at this question. He placed his hand on Sam's shoulder. "Listen, you may work for him, but you're protecting the innocent and stopping the guilty. You've got a good heart and you're a good man, Bonehead, I can feel it. You're not evil. Don't ever tell yourself otherwise."
Sam nodded. He would do his best to keep that in mind. "Thanks."
"Are there any other questions?"
"Just one: are the transformations always so painful?" asked Sam, softly, as he remembered how much it had hurt to transform into the Rider.
Slade shook his head. "Only the first time," he replied. "After that, it doesn't hurt a bit. And good news is, after the first night, you can choose whether or not to change after sundown. But nighttime's the only time you can change."
"Well, that's good to know." Sam rose up and grabbed his jacket. I feel much better knowing I'm the devil's bounty hunter, oh joy. "Thanks for everything, Carter. I'll be in touch."
He left the house, only to stop in his tracks when Slade spoke to him again.
"Hey, Sam, I've got ask, why you'd do it?" asked Slade. "Why'd you make the deal?"
"I was a kid."
"What'd you get in return?"
Sam sighed as tears came to his eyes. "Heartache," he said. Nothing that I didn't deserve.
Without looking back, he got onto his motorcycle and drove off.