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Writing Sample.
TWO WEEKS AFTER DEAN'S DEATH Outskirts of Sioux Fall, South Dakota. May 19th, 2008;
The sky glowed an eerie shade of grey as the moon illuminated the desolate roads below. As a veil of clouds drifted by, the sky blackened and threatened to swallow the Earth whole, as if it would devour it and all of its occupants at any given moment. The shadows of an abandoned shack and nearby trees grew, stretching across the length of the graveled roads with foreboding. Shadows were to be feared. They belonged to the darkness and the evil which dwelled within. Wherever shadows lay, evil would lurk close by. Always waiting, always watching - with their eyes and ears seeing and hearing all. Slithering freely in the shadows until their deceitful faces emerged with lusting eyes fueled by their wicked ways. In the distance the black body of the Chevy Impala sat idly by as a silhouette staggered, paying no heed to the shadows or the dangers that prowled in the night, as their unsteady steps led them down one of the four roads that met at a cross. It had only been two weeks since the passing of his older brother. Two emotional, miserable weeks - but the rate in which Sam had been drinking himself under, it may as well have been two years. The drinking had started the moment after Sam had buried his brother. He and Bobby had shared a few swigs of hard liquor to honor Dean's memory and from there the drinking continued. Sam drowned himself in whiskey in an attempt to escape from drowning in wretched torment, but the alcohol wasn't enough. No matter how much he consumed, Sam found that it was impossible to feel numb, but it was better than nothing. Long legs wobbled without grace as his drunken form drew closer to the center of the crossing. If Bobby could see him now, he would have surely received an earful for the thing he was planning to do. Together they had searched tirelessly and used up every resource that they had available, but still nothing. They were no closer to saving Dean than they had been a whole friggin' year ago. And by now Sam's patience had run out, leaving his desperation and frustration to overflow. The downward spiral that Sam had begun was a horrible thing for the old man to witness. Bobby wasn't innocent, he had had his fair share of beers, but the way Sam had been going at it, he was just asking to get himself killed. And no matter how hard Bobby tried to convince the boy to slow down and think straight, Sam wouldn't listen. The more Bobby urged for Sam's sobriety, the more he drank. The extent of the boy's anguish was too great, and it pushed Sam into dangerous territory. He was willing to try anything: voodoo, witchcraft, torturing demons, you name it - Sam had suggested it. The Winchester became moody, unreasonable, and reckless - until Bobby had been unable to bear it no longer. The old man put his foot down which had only led to a nasty confrontation that exploded out of control and ended with Sam's sudden departure. Sam couldn't stomach the research anymore. And it was made clear to him that Bobby wasn't willing to do sh*t to help with anything beyond his books. Sam was done tip-toeing, he had done his fair share of that all year. It was time to take drastic measures, starting with this. One wrong step and Sam tumbled. Dirt and gravel kicked up as the brunette skidded, dropping his metal tin and scuffing his hands and knees as he fell. The alcohol served well for him to ignore the stings of his freshly scraped palms and knees. Hands fumbled to recollect the metal box as he dragged himself the remainder of the way. He dug fervently, clawing at the dirt as he worked to make a hole big enough before he stuffed the metal box hastily into the ground and covered it. He teetered to a stand, his weight unsure of where to settle itself, as he turned to search for the demon. His eyes squinted and blinked in an attempt to clear his vision of the blur caused from his stupor. Nothing. Brows narrowed as he wobbled to gaze down another road. Deserted. He could almost taste the bile of his festering frustration as it coiled in his stomach. Everywhere he turned, in every direction, nothing. His face grew hot. His arms threw out to his sides as he bellowed, "COME ON! WHERE ARE YOU?" Silence. His jaw ground unpleasantly as his drunken, angry steps led him towards the nearby abandoned shack. Steps faltered as he stumbled and fell against an old table stationed under the overhanging roof. Why the hell hadn't anyone shown? Lilith wanted him dead, and yet when he had summoned one of her lackeys, nothing. He thought for sure that the demons would have been lining up left and right eager to jump on such an opportunity. An elbow hooked over the worn wood as he struggled to pull himself upright. His arms quivered with their endeavor to try and bring his large frame to a stand.
"Colour me surprised," A light, feathery voice coated in thick sarcasm penetrated the silence. Sam turned abruptly in surprise. A blonde, red-eyed demon stared intently at the boy, with a soft grin curled at the edges of her lips as she finalized her train of thought, "a Winchester knocking at my door?" Her eyes trailed up and down, surveying the young boy as she studied him with meticulous observation. Even at the great distance in which she stood, the rancid stench of alcohol flooded her senses. Somebody had luxuriated himself in binge drinking. Dark lines had formed around the circles of his eyes, his drooping eyelids imploring for sleep that they had been denied for days. And his skin complexion. The boy's colorful, bright features had become pale and pasty - sickly. He hadn't been eating well, either. All in all, Sam Winchester looked a horrid mess. "You aren't lookin' so hot, buddy." The demon cooed, and Sam's jaw clenched. She didn't need to speak any further for him to know where this was going. All demons thought and worked the same. His hazel hues narrowed with a warning that was disregarded as the bitch tried her luck. "What's the matter, didn't like our birthday present?" Her words were enough to rip his scabs clean open, leaving Sam's heart vulnerable and bloody like his brother the night he had died. The Winchester's face warped into a terrifying rage as he, at last, managed to bring himself to his feet - but not before he had snuck a hand inside his jacket when her line of vision had been blocked by the table. His shoulders squared and his piercing glare trained malevolently upon the bitch as he fought the urge to act impulsively out of vengeance. "You want to make a deal," she noted with the amusement growing on her face. Small strides worked to narrow the gap between them. Sam tensed as she neared. His posture went rigid and his hand twitched with desires to slash her throat as she brushed beside him to circle around the table. Sam's eyes narrowed down at her as her delicate hand trailed along the surface of the aged wood. "'Round and 'round the Winchesters go." She taunted from behind a snide smile. He never took his eyes off of hers, but he calculated every movement with a precision she was unaware of. He was drunk, after all, she was more than confident in her ability to handle the likes of him. Her palms flattened upon the table as she reached the other side. She leaned forward and the reds of her eyes vanished behind her blink. Sam's fingers tensed around the hilt of the blade at his side, hidden from her view. "I'm sorry, Sam. That isn't going to happen." It pleased her to be able to cut the Winchester off. Sam held her in a fierce gaze for a stretch of time, his nose crinkling with barbaric animosity before. . . SHHNK!
His knife plunged clean through the back of her small hand, penetrating through the underside of the wooden table. A wail of pain erupted from the small demon's lungs before two furious red-eyes snapped back at Sam. The blonde was met with a scorching glare that could have out burned the very fires of Hell itself as Sam's eyes darkened. A sense of fear trickled along her spine, but not enough to completely derail her aggravation regarding his action. The shadows over Sam's features deepened as he leaned his intimidating frame closer. A low growl rattled from his throat, "I'm not here to play games." The fist around the hilt twisted sharply and the demon screeched. "I don't want ten years," he continued through gritted teeth, "I don't want ONE year. I want an exchange!" She glared at Sam, taken back by his words. "A what?" She repeated, bewildered for a stint before her head threw back in a fit of wild laughter. Sam's eyes narrowed and his free hand snapped behind her head, snatching up a handful of hair. The tension in his grip threatened to snap her neck as he pulled forcefully. "P-Poor, Sammy," she stammered, "y-you really are a mess without your brother." The knife was twisted further and her broken laughter continued through her cries of pain. "You think you've got it bad - you should see Dean." White, hot rage. Every inch of Sam's skin burned with fury, and this demon seemed keen to fan the flames. "Are you gonna make the deal or not?!" He barked. The urge to off the bitch was growing increasingly harder to resist with each second that passed. After a few moments her laughs quieted and her expression smoothed, with an occasional wince of discomfort elicited by her injury. "Why would I?" A wave of unbearable heat laved over the hunter. The furnace in the pit of his stomach erupted into volcanic flames. He wanted to bash her face in. "IT'S A FAIR TRADE!" "I don't aim for fair." She responded flatly, and Sam cringed with annoyance. "Fair is boring. Besides, why would I go and do such a silly thing - like putting you in Dean's place - when it's far more compelling to watch you disassemble every fundamental thing about you, yourself." The bitter truth of her words felt like a sword slicing through his chest. Sam knew the darkened path he had chosen to go down - and that he would continue on, obstinately, regardless of the consequences. He tried to hide the conflict he felt over the demon's words. Sure, he acted careless and drank, but his disregards to any form of reason had been a choice that was made consciously. Sam didn't need the alcohol to be a reckless danger to himself. Morality and reason had only ever led him to empty roads with empty promises. The Sam Winchester his brother so loved and cared for was still there, compassionate and moralistic, but after everything that had happened Sam had chosen to bury that part of himself. Sam masked his inner strife, dismissing her comment. "If Lilith wants me dead so badly, why waste the opportunity?" It was a good question, and one that he damn sure wanted an answer to. "I'm practically gift-wrapping my soul - and you're telling me she's not interested?" He found that hard to believe. Her lips spread into a sinister smile. "We don't care about your soul, Sam." Her tone was enlightening, causing Sam's features to warp with great confusion. "Dean's where we want him. And you," she sized him up briefly, "you'll get there." "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" The smile grew into a grin that outshined the cheshire cat as she responded lightly, "Spoilers." It never set well with him when demons chose to be cryptic. Clearly his time and effort would only be wasted if he tried to get anything out of her. His fingers flexed around the demon blade and the demon's red eyes drifted down to take note of the building tension in his posture. She steered her attention back to his face. "If you plan on killing me, hurry up, would ya?" She jeered. His eyes narrowed. He knew that she would give him little to go off of regarding Lilith or Dean, but what about him? A line formed between his brows as he decided to try his luck. "Ruby."
The name seemed to put a bitter taste in the demon's mouth and a sound of disgust scoffed from her lips. "What of the worm?" "She told me that there's something about me." The words were spoken apprehensively; this wasn't an easy topic for him. "Because I was one of Azazel's chosen.." A single brow perked as she boredly declared, "This isn't exactly new." Sam's eyes hardened and his voice threatened to break as he asked, "Why couldn't Lilith touch me? What's in me?" The demon studied his face with silent measurement. Her curiosity was satiated by the weakening of his voice as he croaked, "what am I..?" Pleasure twinkled behind crimson hues. "You have no idea of the plans Azazel had in store for you. And that frightens you, doesn't it, Sam?" He said nothing, but she could see the fear glisten behind his sleepless eyes. "Better buckle up, kiddo. Big plans for the Boy-with-the-demon-blood." An eerie, unsettling laugh giggled from her throat that caused Sam's skin to crawl and sent the horrors of his unknown future to come swarming in around him. It unnerved him. When the sound of her ghastly laugh became unbearable the knife was ripped abruptly from her hand and plunged deep into her chest. An orange glow burned out of her eyes and mouth before she toppled to the ground. Sam's chest rose and fell in unsteady rhythm as he tried to ward off the cluster of nerves that ate away at him. Boy with the demon blood. Sam Winchester was a walking freakshow with blood as black and tainted as the very hearts of the monsters he fought. What big plans had been made for him..?
THREE MONTHS LATER
New Orleans, Louisiana; The French Quarter
August 18th, 2008
Many long hours had passed. Sam's eyes ached and burned, and at this point it was hard telling if it was from his lack of sleep or his growing stupor. He had researched tirelessly and found hardly more than a grain of salt. Nothing that he looked into had given any hint or clues as to why Lilith might stick her nose around a place like Saint Louis Cemetery. A frustrated sigh was expelled as two large hands moved over his face. His fingers rubbed roughly over the lids of his eyes before his calloused palms dry washed down his face. He reached absently for the bottle of whiskey beside his laptop and a displeasure slanted upon his lips at the weight of it. Dull eyes steered to stare at its empty contents. The bottle nearly tipped over as his hand fell lazily from it. Another deep sigh and his sloth-like movements granted him the ability to stand. The keys to the Impala rattled as they were dragged from the table and taken in his grasp. Research had gotten him nowhere and he still had a few hours to kill before it would be safe to scout out the cemetery. The New Orleans haunted tour would go on until the late evening, which meant that Saint Louis Cemetery would be bustling with nosy tourists. For now, Sam needed another drink. Or several. . . - - - The Gold Mine Saloon was lively and crowded, but less wild in comparison to the rambunctious stream of party-goers on Bourbon Street. Sam held no interest in dealing with the likes of such an assembly of people. All he wanted was to enjoy the burning after effects of some good brandy. With a few hours to kill the last thing he needed was to be left in silence with his thoughts. Alcohol was what he needed. It never numbed the pain, but it sure as hell slowed his ability to think straight. Sam staggered inside and nearly knocked a woman over who had been leaving. He barely caught himself against the doorframe before he shook his head - such a feeble attempt to ward off the haze. Perhaps the alcohol was responsible for more than just a slow thought process. He pushed himself from the door, oblivious to the half a dozen faces that followed him intently as he made his way to the bar. As the Winchester fell to lean against the bar the people who had been watching him returned to their casual conversations. There were a few people crowded around the bar, Sam noticed nor looked at no one. A fifty dollar bill was slammed upon the counter as he slumped down into his barstool and demanded a few shots of whiskey. The bartender surveyed the boy. Sam's hazel eyes were red and droopy and from his sloppy demeanor and slurred speech it was not difficult to notice the man's drunken state. "Looks t'me like you've already had plenty." The bartender commented, obtrusively. Sam glared. "And if I wanted your opinion I would've ordered that, instead." He answered, sourly. The bartender gave him an unpleasant look in return before he ventured off to get some brandy. Sam continued to glare at the back of his head before he rolled his eyes and his shoulders fell with a heavy breath. Calloused hands roved over the exhausted features of his face before his fingers rubbed over his eyelids again. He knew that he shouldn't drink too much if there was any chance he would see Lilith tonight, but whenever he had nothing to occupy his time it was hard to do anything other than this. As the bartender returned, a shot glass was placed upon the counter and filled for Sam. It was swiped up hastily as Sam threw his head back to down it with ease. The small glass clinked as it was returned to the counter and the Winchester made demands for more. The bartender didn't seem too pleased, Sam observed, but his lips remained shut as he complied to the boy's request. This continued on for several more shots, until. . . Sam reached to pick up a freshly poured shot as the bartender's silence ceased. "Way you're tossin' them shots back, you must'a had one hell of a day." Sam chose to ignore his attempted small talk and prepared to drink. This time the bartender spoke in a calm, ominous tone as he added, "Or maybe it's just been a rough couple of months for you." The shot glass froze halfway to its destination as Sam's eyes darted towards the older man. The hairs on his body stood on edge and alerted the drunken Winchester that he had better be careful. His body tensed and a sickness waved and crashed in his stomach. The old man stared intently at the brunette, as Sam's nose crinkled with indignation. One single word growled from his throat in a soft warning. "What?" Now the bartender's lips curled into a faint little grin. His eyes traveled over the drunken male meticulously with some sort of sick delight. He disregarded Sam's venomous gaze. "I never woulda pegged you out t'be this dumb, Sam. Coming here like this," eyes blinked black, "you're just asking to die." A pair of strong hands grabbed Sam from behind and whirled him around before he had time to react. His eyes widened and his head spun as he was jerked from his stool. Footing; unstable. Vision; slightly blurry. Strong fingers crushed into the thickness of his shoulders as they wrestled the moosely-sized Winchester. He struggled, but a hand managed to slip beneath the underside of his jacket as the demon behind moved to hook him under the arms. A hard elbow was launched back. Bone and cartilage broke, causing blood to gush. The demon stumbled back, granting Sam the temporary breathing space he required, as the demon blade was swung swiftly. Eyes and mouth burst beneath an orange glow as the blade became lodged in the demon's chest cavity. Sam stumbled, having nearly lost his balance with the swing of his arm, as he wobbled a few paces. The bartender had hopped over the counter during the short time it had taken for Sam to kill the other demon. Sam blinked hard several times and shook his head. It did nothing to ward off his daze. What a time for him to be nearly hammered. . . WHAM! A compacted fist uppercut him and sent the Winchester soaring. Sam knocked over a few chairs - and kept going - as he hit against the pool table. The momentum sent him skidding across the top before he toppled over the edge and knocked over the stand of pool sticks.
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