Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing this and reassuring me when I was writing it that it was okay to write it. Thank you Gredelina1 for holding my metaphorical hand while I was working on it. You ladies were a godsend for this topic.
Chapter Fifty-two
Through the noise of the room and the plane looming, Sam heard one voice clearly. It was a man, and he spoke with a strong Texan accent. "What the hell is that?"
Sam started to answer with a warning, he wanted to tell people to brace themselves, but it was too late. That was the moment the plane hit.
The noise was incredible. It pressed in at Sam, forcing the air from his lungs. He had never heard anything to compare it to. It chilled him to the bone and in that moment of terror, he knew that he was going to die. Michael's protection was nothing compared to this threat. He would be brought back, he knew, but he would die. They were all going to die. No one could survive this.
The whole building shook as if caught in an earthquake. Sam had been in California once as a child when an earthquake hit. He had been terrified as the room shook, only Dean's presence had saved him from outright panic, but that was nothing compared to this.
Sam grappled for something to hold on to, and his fingers caught the edge of the reception desk. He clung to it for dear life, his eyes squeezed shut and his heart pounding in his chest. He sucked in shaky, choking breaths.
There was an enormous thud and Sam's hard-won breaths were knocked out of him again. He guessed it was the fuel exploding above him.
The floor seemed to sink beneath his feet, and the desk he was gripping began to move towards him. Instinctually, Sam let go of it and threw himself backward. He hit the floor hard and something fell on his chest, causing a searing pain that Sam guessed was broken ribs.
The building is coming down! he thought. I was wrong about how long it would take. It's happening now!
He was going to be trapped under the rubble until the angels came for him. That thought scared him more than the idea of outright death.
He could hear no screams over the roar of the impact, but he felt the fear in the place as if it was a tangible thing. He could taste it in his mouth, he could feel its grasping hands against his skin, it whispered in his ears. He cried out wordlessly.
Suddenly, the floor stilled. The sinking had stopped. Other sounds returned to him, screams and shouts. People were crying out for friends and family, for help. One man was shouting for his mother. Sam didn't know whether she was in the building, too, or if he was just reacting to the instinctual need for the most basic comfort.
Sam had no mother to cry for, he had no on there at all, but he called for comfort anyway. "Dean," he rasped. "Dean, help."
For a moment he lay there, waiting for rescue to come, for Dean to do what he always did, before the sounds around him penetrated him. Dean couldn't come. He wasn't here. He was in West Virginia with John, probably watching this nightmare unfold, not knowing Sam was here.
Reason caught up to him. Sam hadn't come here to be saved. He had come to do the saving. He was here to help people, and that meant he had to get off of the floor and do something. He was unhurt, Michael had seen to that, but he was possibly the only one. This floor, this building, was full of people that had no protection like he had.
He got slowly to his feet and took a breath of the dusty air. He allowed himself a second to gather himself and then he looked around. The floor was littered with unmoving people. A foot from Sam was a woman lying perfectly still with her eyes closed. Sam bent down and pressed his fingers to her throat, searching for a sign of life. There was none. Sam could see no sign of injury at all, she seemed perfect, but she was dead. Something inside her had been destroyed.
Sam moved on to the next person, a man lying on his stomach. He turned him but knew without checking for a pulse that he was gone. His injuries were catastrophic. The glass doors had broken and spread their killing shards everywhere.
The injured that had kept their feet and the lucky uninjured were at the stairs, waiting their turn to escape. They weren't shoving their way forward. It was almost calm. Sam looked around for someone to help, needing to help, and saw the man that had chaired the meeting Sam had evacuated. He was sitting on the floor leaning against a wall. Sam could see no blood or outward injury, but he was pale and sweating. Sam walked quickly to him and squatted in front of him.
The man looked up at him and his lips quirked into a smile. "Hello again."
"Are you hurt?" Sam asked.
"I believe I am, yes; I can't seem to move properly."
Sam reached for him, planning to get him up and out, but the man shook his head.
"No, I'm better here, I think. I shouldn't get in the way."
Sam just looked at him stunned. He sounded accepting, calm, as if the fact of his situation was of little concern to him.
"You have to get out," Sam said. "This building is going to come down."
"I think it's too late for me. You should find someone else to help."
Sam just frowned at him, then it sank in: this man was willing to give up his chance of escape for someone else. And there were so many. Around him, floors above him, people were already dead. Others were trapped. If this man had decided to make his last act one of sacrifice, Sam had to accept it and move on to someone that needed him.
"I'm sorry," he said, standing up again.
"You did your best," he said, looking past Sam. "Perhaps you could help her."
Sam looked around and saw a woman standing by the fallen desk. She was staring down at her hands that were clasped in prayer. Her lips moved rapidly, but Sam couldn't hear what she was saying. Tears were slipping down her cheeks, but she didn't move to the stairs.
Sam rushed to her and said, "You have to get out. The staircase. Now."
She didn't even look at him, and when he grabbed her shoulders and shook her, she jostled but continued her silent litany.
Sam felt helpless. He looked around him for someone to help her, but the only people he could see were past helping or helping themselves already. "Come with me!" he snapped, taking her hand and towing her to the door that led to the stairs. She moved with him but didn't speak still. Sam glanced back and saw the man leaning against the wall watching him. He nodded once, and Sam thought it looked like approval.
Sam wanted to go to him, to ease the end for him, but he realized he couldn't. When he had taken that woman's hand, he had accepted responsibility for her life. Her fate was his burden now.
He had come to the towers on this day as part of some grand plan to save lives. He'd plotted it out. He'd worn layers so that he could use his clothes as dressings for the injured and imagined how he would create a safe space for them. He had thought he would make a difference. He had been wrong. He couldn't save them all. That wasn't his job. He was here to help one person, this woman. He was supposed to get her out.
He lifted her chin so that he could look her in the eye and said, "I am Sam Winchester, and we're getting out. Do you understand?"
Something seemed to spark in her eyes, though she didn't speak. She nodded once, and her hand in his tightened.
Sam realized he had told her he was a Winchester. He hadn't used his real name since Berlin. He had told everyone he was Sam Taylor, and that name had become his. He was only ever Winchester in his heart now. But it felt right that she knew the real him. He was going to save her as who he really was, not a man pretending.
With the woman held at his side, Sam got into the staircase, and he joined the people walking down. The first thing that struck him was that there weren't enough people there. There were floors full of people above them, hundreds, but too few were coming down. They were trapped or already dead.
Water was streaming from the ceiling where pipes had burst, but it wasn't enough to disperse the smoke that was funneling down from the upper levels. It clouded Sam's eyes and scratched his throat. He wanted to cover his mouth, but he knew there was no need. He would be uncomfortable but there would be no physical damage to him. He was protected. The woman with him needed protecting though.
When they came to the next level there was a space of a few meters where the stairs turned and went in the other direction. Sam pulled the woman to the corner and stripped off his jacket and shirt, leaving himself in a white undershirt. He tied his jacket around his waist in case he needed it later and explained to the woman, "We're going to tie this around your face. It will help with the smoke, okay?"
She nodded and stood still as Sam carefully tied his outer shirt around her head, tight enough to stay in place but not so tight it would restrict her breathing. Sam adjusted it so her nose was covered and then took her hand again and led her to the next staircase.
It was quieter here than on their floor, but there was one common theme among most of the voices. Sam could only hear one side of their conversations as they were on their cell phones. People were reassuring others, friends and family, and others were expressing love. They were the ones that made Sam's throat swell closed as he knew people were preparing their loved ones for a final goodbye. They were aware than they might not make it out.
Sam wondered how it must feel to be on the other end of one of those calls. How did you cope when your loved one was far away and facing something like this? What words of comfort could you offer them? How did you express your love with enough emphasis without them knowing you were saying goodbye, too? Sam couldn't imagine how they felt.
Just as Sam had the first time, most people experienced 9/11 through the medium of a television. They watched it unfold and were shocked but distanced from it. How could you cope if you were watching the screen and knowing someone you loved was there? What kind of strength did it take to not break from that?
A woman beside him was clearly talking to a child, and the words she spoke were breaking Sam's heart. "Momma loves you, Katie. Momma loves you and Daddy and Jamie."
Sam felt tears drip down his face that the knowledge that this woman would probably make it out couldn't staunch.
He checked his watch. They had less than half an hour to get out. They needed to be faster. That was complicated when they reached the thirty-seventh floor, as people were slowing. As they had descended, more people had joined the flow, but now it was as if they were fighting against something. What it was became clear as they reached the level of the thirty-fifth floor and Sam saw yellow helmets above the heads of people in front of them. The firefighters were on their way up.
The sight of them choked the breath out of Sam's lungs. They were ascending a staircase towards something everyone else was fleeing, going to a literal hell to save lives that they couldn't save and a fire they couldn't fight. Sam wondered if they knew. As they passed him, he saw that they did. The knowledge was in their eyes, though they spoke easily to the people they passed, sharing their strength.
"Keep going, guys. We can make it up, so you can make it down," one said, and another added, "Nice and calm, that's it."
Sam wanted to say something to them but he was without words. He just watched them pass. One man, younger than James, coming at the rear of the flow of heroes caught Sam's eye and smiled slightly, a gesture of reassurance. The fact he was reassuring Sam while knowing what he was heading into was the worst of the horrors Sam had already experienced that day.
They passed, and the way became clearer for a while until they reached the next floor. A bottleneck of people had formed. Sam looked over the heads and saw an elderly woman being helped down by two large men. They were encouraging her as they walked, and she moved with her head held high. Sam knew he wasn't going to be able to pass her and keep hold of the woman with him, so he stopped and said, "We're going to have to change it up. I want you to walk behind me and hold onto my shoulders. Whatever happens, don't let go, understand?"
She nodded quickly, her eyes afraid.
Sam stepped in front of her and felt her hands on his shoulders, gripping the cotton of his undershirt. Confident she had a good hold of him, Sam started forward again. They reached the woman and her helpers, and Sam stopped a moment to look at the closest man. "Do you need help?" he asked, and he heard the woman behind him gasp.
"No, we've got it," he said. "Looks like you've already got something you need to be doing."
Sam nodded and patted the hand gripping his shoulder. They squeezed past them and carried on down the stairs. When they came to a level area, Sam said, "Flat, flat, flat, and down again," to warn the woman.
His foot kicked something, and he glanced down and saw a purse on the floor. As he looked, he noticed other things. A single red high-heeled shoe, a jacket, a laptop bag. People were shedding the things that they had carried this far, making their exit easier. He thought for a moment of moving the things away, but he realized that would slow him down, slow the flight of each person behind him. He just said, "Mind your step. There's stuff on the floor," and carried on.
When they reached a certain point, people seemed to be moving faster. Sam looked up they reached the next level and saw a number painted on the wall. He breathed a gust of relief. They had reached the second floor at last. They were finally close to the exit.
"Look," he said loudly. "We're almost out."
The hands on his shoulders tightened in response.
Sam kept his footsteps steady so she could keep pace with him, and people brushed past them. Sam understood their need. He wanted to run for the exit, too.
When their steps leveled out and Sam heard the rush of noise ahead of him, Sam almost let himself smile. They'd made it. He was getting her out. But hundreds more wouldn't.
They walked into the vast lobby that was crowded with people. There were police and firefighters; some were speaking into walkie talkies while others were guiding people away from the stairs to allow the free flow of people.
Sam led the woman to the exit where a firefighter was standing with his arms raised and speaking loudly.
"There's debris falling out there, so wait for my command and then run, understand? Don't wait around to watch. Get yourselves as far away as you can. It's not safe here. Don't look up."
He turned back and Sam saw a second firefighter give them the thumbs up from just outside.
"Go, go, go!" the fireman called to them.
Gripping the woman's hand tightly, Sam ran at the door. Sam fled outside into the fresh air and then almost stopped stunned, only making himself move on by reminding himself that he wasn't the only one he needed to think of. He glanced at his watch. There were only minutes to go.
He had seen a lot in his life, awful things, but he had never been in a warzone before, and that's what this was. There was debris, blood and bodies spread on the ground. Sam looked at the bodies and remembered images from that day that had haunted him for a long time. People falling through the sky toward the ground, having fled the scorching heat of the upper floors. He remembered the iconic pair that had jumped hand in hand. Some of the falling debris they were talking about were people jumping to their deaths.
People were running around, some EMTs, firefighters and police, but others were civilians trying to help and escape in equal measure. Sam dragged the woman forward across what had been a busy street before it was coated with bodies and debris, and to the street beyond. She stumbled, and Sam turned and picked her up into his arms without a word. Carrying her bridal style, Sam ran at the street opposite him, passing countless people. He shouted at them to get away as he ran but didn't stop to see if they listened. He had a clear mission: save the woman in his arms. To try anything else was to risk her and his goal.
He ran as fast as he could. People were standing along the streets, staring up at the buildings. People were filming it on camcorders. Others were on their phones. They all wore identical expressions of horror.
The woman in his arms was crying now. Sam didn't know whether it was relief at their escape or the next stage of shock reaching her. He understood the desire. He wanted to cry, to allow himself some release, too.
He saw a café with its door open and a man in a blue apron standing outside. "Look!" he shouted suddenly as a rumble began behind them.
Sam turned in spite of himself and saw the sight he had seen on news reports and tv shows more times than he could count. It was happening. With a cloud of smoke at the highest levels that seems to pulse out, the building began to collapse downwards.
He felt someone tugging his sleeve and he turned to the woman he'd come out of the towers with. She had pulled his shirt away from her face. "What's happening, Sam?" she asked.
Sam swallowed hard. "The tower is falling."
So… I don't have anything else to say. I can usually sum up my thoughts or experiences writing for the last AN, but this time I'm at a loss. That was too much.
Actually, there's one thing. Sam. I don't know if you'll agree with me on this, but I didn't want Sam to be a great hero for this event. There were real heroes that day, and to give Sam their role would be to take away from their legacies. Sam went there to save as many as he could but only saved one woman. I think that's pretty incredible as it is, and I didn't want to give him more.
Until next time…
Clowns or Midgets xxx
