Chapter 3--The Real Sam Winchester

John Winchester knew he'd made mistakes; he'd made a lot with his boys, giving Dean too much responsibility, fighting with Sam and kicking him out just for wanting to go to school. He never imagined his mistakes were this bad, or that he had been such a failure of a father that this is how his son's life would end. The tears flowed down freely as he watched the coffin being lowered into the ground, as they covered his son with dirt. What would happen to him in the next life? He wasn't a religious man, but he hoped that his son would find peace.

He heard Pastor Jim speak to him, knew he said something, but it was meaningless. Everything was meaningless, except one thing…that he failed both his boys, and he had to make it right. He stood up kissed Sam's headstone, then walked to Mary's grave.

"You would be proud of how Sam turned out; Mary. I just wish I hadn't failed them both so miserably! But, don't worry; I'll take care of everything. I love you." He bent down and kissed her headstone. He had a plan…he knew how to get Dean to come to him and he would make it as quick as possible.

Sam walked down the hallway of the upscale condos scanning the numbers on the doors until he got to PH5. Ringing the doorbell, he thought how strange it was that Luke lived in a penthouse. A man in a butler's uniform answered the door and allowed him inside. His eyes scanned the plush condo, still trying to take in the strangeness of a supernatural being living like he was human.

"Welcome to my humble abode." Luke said with a smile as he came down the stairs.

Sam raised an eyebrow, "Humble…?" He shook his head, "This isn't exactly what I would call humble."

Luke smiled as he walked towards Sam, a young man not too far behind him. "I have to go, see you later." The young man said to Luke, then they kissed. Sam watched the young man leave then gave Luke a surprised look.

Luke laughed "Your wondering about that…" Sam nodded. "You see humans have vices, sex, drugs, booze, gambling, and to some extent food. I…give them a little taste of what they desire. After a while their desires become so strong, so intense they will do anything to have more…give anything to have more. And the more human I appear, more likely they are to trust me," He smiled then walked to the table behind Sam.

"Come, sit, we have a lot to talk about." Sam turned around and sat at the table as the butler served them both some food.

"What do we have to talk about?" Sam knew Luke knew about the cop.

"Maybe we should talk about the manhunt for you. What the hell were you thinking?"

"I don't know…" Sam answered quietly.

"I don't mind if you want to attack or kill someone, but do it discreetly. I won't bail you out every time, I made it look like an ex-con did it; you won't have to worry about it."

"What did you do to me?"

Sam swallowed hard. He had been feeling different since he first met Luke in the prison. Part of him didn't want to know the answer, but he needed to. The pleasure he felt from hurting people was becoming overwhelming followed shortly by a huge wave of guilt. He felt the guilt lessen after he beat up the cop compared to when he drugged Dean, but he still felt sickened with himself.

"What I did to you…I think it's more what you did to yourself. You have no one to blame for your current situation but yourself. But, let's not dwell on it. How was Kathleen? She is a great fuck isn't she?" He said with a huge smile.

"I don't know…I told her to leave." Sam answered, still trying to wrap his mind around how different Luke was from every supernatural being he had encountered.

"Why did you tell her to leave? You have to let go of your old life and how you use to do things. You are not the good guy anymore. She was gorgeous and we do not hold back; if we want something we take it. Call her and give her a few rounds," He said with a smirk. He knew Sam was fighting a loosing battle with himself, and the more he pushed Sam, the easier it would be to control him.

Sam stayed quiet. He wanted to call Kathleen, but whenever he thought of her his mind would always bring him back to Jessica. When she first died everything reminded him of her. Over the past year it had become easier, but the past few days he was always thinking of her. He was ashamed of what he was becoming and he knew she wouldn't like what he was becoming…what he would do for Luke.

"We have to talk about your brother; he was in New York following a false lead."

"Was? Where is he now?"

"He's in Lawrence, with your father." He smiled at Sam's reaction, enjoying the look of pain on the young man's face.

"Your father thinks you're dead," He laughed. "It was easy manipulating him. I almost got your brother too, but he slipped away at the last minute. John thinks Dean is on drugs and he killed you. I convinced him that the only way to save Dean was for him to kill Dean."

An evil grin spread across his face "Then, once Dean is dead, John will kill himself." He leaned in closer, "I don't want any interference from you. You have to promise me you will not warn them."

"I won't." But secretly he knew he had to warn his brother of the impending danger…the only problem was how he was going to warn Dean without Luke knowing.

"Today is your first day. I do not like mistakes, so I will come with you to your first client," He said very seriously. "One mistake and I will collect on our original deal." He said looking Sam in the eyes, making it more than clear he wouldn't tolerate any mistakes.

Claire Anderson, 1:30 pm Sam's first client

Claire Anderson, a thirty-five-year-old artist who became a huge sensation over night ten years ago, sat in her studio painting, as she always did at this time. She turned as a young man came in to admire her work. She noticed how attractive he was, not noticing the other man who came in after him. A small smile came across her face. She hoped he would buy something, maybe recommend some of her work to his friends; maybe if she was lucky they would get to know each other. He wondered around, admiring her work, but what she didn't know was he was really staking the place out.

She put her paint brush down and walked towards the young man, still unaware of the other man. "You like the painting." She said cheerfully.

He turned around and smiled "Yeah, this is a great abstract piece, the use of color, line and shape is unique and creative. This piece…it speaks to me; it shows pain and sorrow, but at the same time you show hope. I must admit it's beautiful!"

She found herself lost in his words; he knew what he was talking about. His voice was strong, but gentle at the same time. She moved closer wanting to know more about this man, what he thought of art, about life, what he saw in her other paintings, but mostly she wanted to know what he thought of her.

"Thank you." She finally managed to speak, she had never felt tongue-tied before, but he had a hold on her and he'd only been there for a few minutes.

"Are you interested in buying?" She said with a flirtatious smile.

"Very interested," he said still acting the part, not giving away that he was there to collect on her deal.

The ringing of the cell rang through his mind, burrowing deep inside and into his dreams. He could hear it, became aware of its annoying presence. As he became more aware of this world and less of his dream world, he became more aware of the annoying and never ending nuisance and the meaning of the noise that begged his attention.

"Sammy…!" He shouted into the phone once he had answered it.

There was silence from the other end…then came a voice, "Dean, it's me," His father's gruff voice came, strength and determination in his voice, not revealing the true meaning of the phone call.

"Dad, we need to talk about Sam…" he started. Dean knew he was in trouble, knew his father would go ballistic on his sorry ass for losing his little brother.

"I know about Sam," John interrupted his son's words. Dean could feel his whole body stiffen and a cold chill ran down his back as he heard his father's voice.

"Dad I can explain…" Could he? Could he really explain how he lost his little brother? The one with freaky supernatural powers, and a demon who's been after him since he was six months old. How the hell was he going to explain some supernatural being has his brother…and that he had no idea where he is.

"I need you to come to your mother's grave." His father's request shook him; he sat there in a stupor. Why would his father want him to go to her grave?

"What…?" Now Dean's voice was barely a whisper. How could he go to his mother's grave; how could his father ask this of him?

"Just do it Dean! Be here at 4:30 today. I've already booked a flight for you…use your real name at JFK"

"But, dad…"

"Just do it!" John snapped, barely able to keep his composure during the conversation. His sons were lost to him and it took everything he had inside of him to keep himself together for this long. He hung up.

Dean sat there staring at his phone for a moment or two, wondering what his father knew and why he insisted they meet at his mother's grave. But, he was Dean Winchester and he never questioned his father; he was the good little soldier and he always did as he was told.

At least, that's what he told himself as he sat down on the cushioned chair at JFK, that's what he told himself as he checked in, and he kept saying it as he sat at his seat, buckled up, and the plane took off. He hummed Metallica with his eyes closed as the man beside him eyed him with a strange look.

"What…?" He yelled at the man when he opened his eyes.

Everything will be okay…the plane won't crash…the plane won't crash…dad needs me, I need to explain things…the plane won't crash…Oh my god what was that…oh no the plane's going to crash!

"Excuse me, what was that?" Dean asked the polite stewardess.

"It's just some turbulence; are you a nervous flyer sir?" She asked as she put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

He gave her a nervous smile, "Yeah…a little, the last plane I was on almost crashed." He turned his head to the man beside him, who now was feeling a little nervous.

"Don't worry, we'll be landing soon." She gave him a warm smile.

After what felt like an eternity, they finally landed and Dean let out a sigh of relief. He thought to himself that he would kill his father for putting him on a plane.

Claire and Sam sat together for an hour, drinking coffee and talking. He felt a bit guilty that he had spent so much time getting to know her…he knew her fate. He took a quick glance over at Luke; he seemed impatient…it was time to collect.

He didn't want to harm her, but he knew she'd made her deal, most likely a deal about her art. It was all she talked about and she'd made her bed…now she had to lie in it. He offered to take the cups to the sink; he gently placed them in, and walked up behind her and roughly grabbed her.

He whispered something into her ear that made her blood go cold.

Dean looked down at his mother's grave and shook his head. His father knew he didn't want to be here, why would he ask Dean to meet him here? He didn't know why, but for some reason he looked at the grave beside his mother's. He looked at the name…Sam Winchester!

His heart lurched, "Oh my god…" He swallowed hard, "Who put this here?" He shouted, not hearing the footsteps behind him.

"I put it there." he heard his father's gruff, angry voice. Dean turned around just as John punched him, knocking his head against Sam's headstone.

John's head hung low; he couldn't look at Dean…Dean was no longer his son. He was someone else, a junky…a killer, he killed his own brother, John's son. He heard a soft moan. He didn't lift his head. There was a hissing sound and another moan.

"Dad…dad what are you doing?" Dean inquired as he bit back the pain and pulled on his restraints.

John shook his head, "Where did I go wrong with you, Dean?" He asked quietly, but it still echoed in the large mausoleum. John lifted his head, tears stinging his eyes. It was dark, but Dean could see the pain in his father's eyes; they were red from the tears he shed for his dead son.

"What do you mean? Dad, I'm sorry…I mean about Sam. I'm sorry…I can explain!" His father's disapproval stung deeply, stabbing him through his heart; all he'd ever wanted was his father's approval.

"You can explain?" John yelled as he walked towards Dean, his hands shaking with anger. Dean now saw the eight inch knife in his father's right hand. "How the hell can you explain what you did to your brother?" John bent down in front of his eldest son.

"Dad I'm sorry!" Dean whimpered

"You're sorry? You're sorry isn't enough, Dean!" John shook his head; tears fell down his face. "You are not a father! You will never understand the anguish of burying your own son, but…" John hid his face in his left hand for a moment to compose himself. He had to finish this…he had to save Dean!

"To have your eldest son kill him…you were suppose to protect him. You were…" John broke down. He couldn't take the pain of losing Sam. He'd wasted so much time with him, he should have stayed and watched over his boys.

"Dad…I didn't kill Sammy!" Dean choked out. He couldn't believe his own ears…he would never harm Sam.

John wiped his eyes with his sleeve and sniffed at his running nose. "I saw him, Dean. The police told me…they told me that witnesses…they saw you two fighting and you shot him in the chest." John took a deep breath, he couldn't lose it again.

"They said you left your brother on the street to bleed to death, that he died on the streets! They said you two had an argument about your drug use!" John screamed, waving the knife in the air as he recited every word Luke whispered into his ear.

"I'm not on drugs." Dean defended, shocked at the unfounded accusations being thrown at him.

"What do you have to say for yourself? What is your excuse?" John choked out, tightening his grip on the knife.

Dean looked at his father, stunned. He thought Dean killed Sam and left him on the streets to die…alone and afraid!

"Dad…Sammy's still alive; you don't understand…" A single tear fell down Dean's face. Seeing the pain, anguish, anger and disgust in his father's eyes was too much for him to take; the walls of Jericho came tumbling down.

John shook his head as he brought the knife to Dean's chest. Dean took a shaky breath as he felt the cold steel press against his bare skin.

John took a deep breath and said, "Do not worry, son. It'll be through the heart, quick and easy. It's the only way to save you from the drugs."

"I'm here to collect on your deal, Claire." Sam whispered into her ear as tears streamed down her face and onto his hand.

She struggled, but he was strong. A man stepped in front of them and she hoped he would help her. He smiled and she knew who he was. She screamed.

"Take it, Sam," She heard him say with a smile. She struggled more and Luke laughed.

Sam wasn't exactly sure how he was supposed to do this. He knew what he was supposed to do…where he was going to send her. Then, as if it was second nature and he knew what to do all along, he placed his hand on her chest, feeling her heart pounding in her chest and in his hand.

A wave of extreme pain came over her; she screamed through the hand covering her mouth. Sam reached inside of her; she could feel him inside of her, his hand burned…stung. The pain started in her chest, but as he started to rip her soul from her body, the pain quickly spread throughout her body, and when he separated body and soul she went limp. He looked up at Luke who was smiling. Sam held her soul in his hands for a moment before he cast her soul into hell. He gently placed her body onto the floor, looking deeply into her dead eyes, knowing he killed her.

"Good work! Now you are a collector! Come, there are others for you to collect." Luke turned around to leave.

Sam ran to the sink and threw up…he was a killer now and there was no turning back.

Dean felt the cold steel tip digging into his chest. He couldn't speak…it was becoming more and more difficult to breath. He saw the tears in his father's eyes; it hurt so much to see him in such pain.

Dean knew he was going to die, but at his own father's hands? This wasn't how he'd pictured his death. He became so lost in his father's pain stricken face that it took him a moment to register that it had been replaced by Bobby's.

"Dean, you alright?" Bobby questioned as he untied the rope.

"What happened?" Dean searched the floor for his father; he found him unconscious on the floor near his feet.

"I came as fast as I could; I heard John yelling at you from outside. I came in and saw him trying to kill you…what the fuck is wrong with him!"

"He thinks I killed Sam! I didn't…Sam can't be dead…Sam isn't dead, is he?"

"No, Sam's fine. He called me and told me your daddy went postal." Bobby helped Dean up.

"Sam called you? What did he tell you?" Dean asked frantically.

"Let's take care of John first. I didn't hit him that hard." They turned to John, and using the rope that once restrained Dean, they tied him up.

"Alright, what did Sam say?" Dean inquired, crouching over his father.

"He said something happened to John and that John thought Sam was dead. He said it was second hand information; I tried to get him to tell me where he was or why he left, but…" He shook his head, remembering the conversation.

"He got all riled-up, started swearing, saying your blood was on my hands." John moaned and both their eyes fell upon the fallen hunter.

"Dad?" No response; John was still unconscious. "Did he tell you why he left?"

"No, but if he was my boy, man, I'd teach him a lesson Mohammad Ali style!"

Dean laughed "What the hell is going on with him?" Bobby knew Dean didn't know the answer, but he asked him anyway.

"I don't know, but I do know he's scared. This Luke Sullivan guy uses manipulation. That's why my dad thinks I killed Sam." Dean leaned back against the cold concrete wall of the mausoleum. He raked a hand through his hair then shook his head.

"I don't know what is going on. What I do know is this Luke Sullivan, whoever…or whatever he is, is powerful. So damn powerful that he's got Sam doing things he would never do…like that cop he attacked."

Bobby nodded. John moaned again and shifted. Dean bolted up, crouching over John again. "Dad, you okay?" he put a hand on his father's shoulder, turning him around, so they faced each other. Dean held his breath, waiting to see what his father would do or say.

"Dean…oh my god! I-I'm so sorry!" John cried frantically, remembering that he almost killed his own son.

"It's okay dad; it's not your fault. What do you remember?" Dean comforted as he reached down to untie his father. John rubbed at his wrists a little as he sat-up.

John sat there for a long while, going over what he remembered. "There was this man, he had red eyes. It was a demon; he made me think Sammy was dead, is he dead?" John searched Dean's face, fearing what the answer might be.

"No, dad he isn't, and we need to talk…about the man with the red eyes, and Sam." Dean paused and sat beside the elder man. "Sam's gone, and he's in deep shit!"

Sam slowly walked to his door; the last place he wanted to be was here. He went to open his door with his key, but it creaked open with the slightest touch. Sam sighed loudly; this was one of the worst days of his life! Why did he make this deal with Luke? He walked in and slammed the door closed and it creaked open again. He let out his frustration on the door, slamming it shut at no avail…it was a stubborn son of bitch!

He turned around and went to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, he went over the scraps of food he had, picking out some macaroni salad and soda. He closed the door and opened the cupboard door to find a small family of cockroaches living there. He stumbled backwards, dropping the food and soda on the floor.

"Like the rat in the toilet and junkies down the hall aren't bad enough!" He yelled at no one in particular, then slammed the door. Sam walked to the bathroom and looked at the man staring back at him.

"Who the hell are you? What the hell have you done with the real Sam Winchester?" He looked into his eyes, his features; he looked the same, they were the same hazel eyes, but the kindness that lay behind them was disappearing. He could feel himself changing, his hands started to shake, the walls began to close in on him, and he gasped as the image in the mirror smiled at him.

"I'm Sam Winchester…the real Sam Winchester." His image replied.

Sam fell backwards, stunned that his mirror image spoke to him. He hit his back sharply against the wall, but he hardly took notice as he stumbled out of the bathroom and out of his apartment.

Once outside of the building, Sam took a moment to catch his breath. Hunched over, he felt like screaming, punching someone, he felt the urge to kill overwhelming him. As if killing was becoming a drug and he was experiencing withdrawal symptoms.

"Are you okay?" A female voice asked him. He looked up and saw that she was wearing a very tight, short dress. He looked her up and down and she noticed that he liked what he saw "Its fifty dollars, seventy-five if you want more."

Luke's words went through his mind.

If we want something, we take it.

He smiled and nodded.

A few minutes later they were in a back alley, kissing. He pulled up her dress and she moaned in pleasure; he pulled at her top, kissing her breast. She pulled at his belt, trying to undo it. He backed away.

"I can't, I can't!" he turned around to leave.

"Hey, you still owe me money!" She shouted at him, not really expecting him to pay. To her surprise, he took out his wallet and handed her fifty dollars; she took it.

Sam found himself wondering the streets. He didn't' know how it happened, but he found himself in the same place. He rang the door bell and walked in when the door was opened.

"I have nowhere else to go." He said with his head down in defeat.

"It's okay Sam; my door is always open to you." Luke said smiling as he closed the door.

TBC...