Where to Run
Chapter One
Sam wandered around in a daze, losing track of how long or how far he walked and how many times he hitched in the bed of a pickup truck. All he knew was that the sun rose and fell. He didn't run into any demons, or any hunters, and for that he was grateful.
It gave him time to think: about himself, his failures, the demon blood running through his veins, and what he was going to do now. Would he continue hunting? Or should he give up and just go away somewhere to kill himself? Eventually the howling anger won out and he decided that if he was going to loose everything then he could at least repay the favor and bring his own version of hell to any demon, ghost, or monster he came across.
The first thing on the agenda was to figure out a way to tally up his failures, not just so that he would remember them but also to help him learn from the mistakes and move on. He ended up carving instances of failure into his arms. Permanent reminders so he wouldn't repeat the mistakes again.
He carved one for Jess. He carved one for his dad. He carved two for Dean – one for failing as a brother and one for failing as a hunter. And he carved one for Bobby.
Once he was done with his tallies he decided it was time to move on. It was time to get back to work – back to hunting. Which brought up the next issue: should he use the powers given to him by Azazel? The powers Dean had warned him to not use? The ones that he used to break open the last seal?
Because, realistically, he couldn't just ignore them and hoped they went away. He tried that approach with Dean but the less he used them the weaker he got, and the more he couldn't control what happened when they flared up. Case in point the last hunt he and Dean went on together nearly had Sam on his knees because the demon knew his weakness when faced with blood and the temptation to use those powers. The demon managed to provoke him, last minute, and Sam lashed out.
Unfortunately he forgot that Dean was in the same room along with a 'hostage.' The blast of power killed the demon, and it's vessel, and injured Dean and the hostage. The hostage didn't make it even after they got her to the hospital.
In remembrance, he added a mark to his arm. Eventually he decided that he would use those powers, but he would first work on controlling them. So for two weeks he holed himself up in an old cabin he'd found and worked on nothing but his telekinetic powers and his, admittedly, short temper.
His first hunt since the split, he decided he would do something small. A ghost, or a poltergeist. When he felt ready, he made his way to a small town and into the local library. Where he researched on the computer until he came across a potential hunt: there was an article in a newspaper, from a town not an hours walk from where he was.
A young couple ended up hospitalized and claimed that something in the house did it.
He made his way to the town and did some digging – apparently every person to ever live in the house left within one year of moving in. The neighbors, friendly and eager to help the couple, admitted to hearing strange sounds and seeing odd light. When nobody was home.
Thankfully the couple were still in the hospital so Sam was able to climb in an open back window without detection. His hand held EMF meter detected something almost immediately and he went to work searching the house. He was in luck – in the basement he found the deed to the house, complete with the original owners name.
A trip to the local cemetery led to a simple salt and burn job. The ghost didn't even show up. Sam stuck around for a few days but nothing else happened, even when the home owners returned.
So he moved on to the next hunt.
Time passed – he hunted down ghosts and poltergeists for a while, breaking in between hunts to work on his telekinetic abilities until he felt confident in them. Then he moved on to hunting demons again.
On the first hunt he stumbled across he found that the exorcising powers he had been counting on wouldn't work. The demon had paused, laughed, and then proceeded to toss him around like a rag-doll. Until Sam felt something snap and he let the rage wash over him. The demon was exorcised, but the human vessel was dead.
He carved the failure into his arm and moved on.
Eventually, he got another chance to prove himself. And another. And another. Demon after demon was exorcised at his hand. As he practiced, the better he became at it. Eventually he was able to banish and torture demons without hurting the vessels.
He earned money for food and supplies by singing – yes, singing – at local bars for entertainment, or helped patch up cars for local mechanics. And when he wasn't singing/working or hunting, he was patching himself up.
Hunting alone, with nothing but a blade, was dangerous he found. He wasn't without injury, without pain. In fact he couldn't remember a time when he DIDN'T hurt now. He learned to block it, just like he learned how to control the powers he had been born with.
There was one drawback, though. He was susceptible to devil's traps and he was sensitive to salt and holy water. After getting his hands on some obscure books he found the info he needed: Azazel's blood, Ruby's blood, and using his powers willingly for any reason shifted his biological chemistry.
Azazel had getten his way: Sam was now on his way to actually becoming a half demon. And if things where to be completed he would be in his true form. Which meant he would be powerful.
He added a large mark to his arm and ended up passed out from blood loss, until the strange powers kicked in and healed him enough for him to stitch himself together.
"Things are heating up." He muttered to himself as he settled backstage and waited for the club manager to motion him out. He was currently in Oklahoma, drifting and looking for the next battle – current job of choice: singing entertainment at a small town club.
Demons where in town as of two days ago, that much he knew. Now it was just a waiting game as he made some money and maybe checked the area out after work. He drifted out to the small stage on his cue, taking over for one of the other many singing drifters that also made money by hitting these clubs.
"Carry on my wayward son
There'll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don't you cry no more"
He rolled his eyes a bit at the song. It was symbolic, in a way.
"Once I rose above the noise and confusion
Just to get a glimpse beyond this illusion
I was soaring ever higher
But I flew too high"
A girl in the audience smiled at him and he smiled back as he sang. He briefly wished that songs reflected real life, then maybe he and Dean could have… but no. It wasn't worth it to get stuck in hopes and dreams.
"Masquerading as a man with a reason
My charade is the event of the season
And if I claim to be a wise man but
It surely means that I don't know"
"On a stormy sea of moving emotion
Tossed about I'm like a ship on the ocean
I set a course for winds of fortune
But I hear the voices say"
Dreams where for sleeping. He wasn't sleeping much at all these days.
"Carry on my wayward son
There'll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don't you cry no more, no"
"Carry on, you will always remember
Carry on, nothing equals the splendor
Now your life's no longer empty
Surely heaven waits for you"
Heaven, what a joke. As if there where such a place, and as if most people would get there.
"Carry on my wayward son
There'll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don't you cry
Don't you cry no more, no more"
He sang well into the night, only relieved when the club closed at three a.m.. He accepted his payment with a nod of thanks and disappeared into a nearby alley to divvy it up and hide it away in different pockets.
Then he headed out to look around the area for signs of the demons he was tracking. By five he was done – all signs pointed that they where already gone: exorcised by another hunter or just moved on. It was a disappointment, but Sam took it in stride.
It was when he was about to leave that he was jumped. Three men, bulkier than him but no taller. He barely had time to open his mouth before a hand covered it, and he fought as they wrestled him to the ground. It was no use – the hand had a drugged cloth and he felt himself loosing consciousness.
TBC
I don't own the song, BTW. Hopefully won't remove the chap. If it does, i'll re-upload without full lyrics. And for the record, i have the whole story written up. I'll try to upload a new chapter every couple of days or so.