|
Soulless Sam
PART I "We are more than our bodies."
Panicked breaths echoed loudly down a narrow and dark corridor. There were no lights and yet somehow this place always seemed to be illuminated well enough to reveal the horrors of such a twisted and unholy place. The walls, which appeared to be made up of living flesh, pulsed in unsteady rhythms that mirrored the palpitations of Sam's heart. Distant screams and cries of agony were always heard not far off into the distance, but the source of these sounds were never found. Sam could only guess that they belonged to souls of the condemned that occupied other parts of Hell, parts that were close by but not associated with the cage he had been confined to.
Cage. He almost wanted to scoff at such a word, while the part of him that clung to sanity by a thread threatened to snap into a fit of psychotic laughter. The term 'cage,' at times, was rather comical to Sam, for this place resembled nothing of a cage at all. In fact, it was completely seamless. Like an illusion that had been depicted from the most deranged of minds. It morphed and it changed, adapting itself to mold into the perfect fear, carved from the very horrors of one's mind. This place was...alive.
There was no way to know for certain of how much time had passed but, based off of how many times he had stumbled around this seemingly endless maze, it felt as if decades had already gone by. And unbeknownst to Sam, decades was more spot-on than he realized. Though he never aged in appearance, the weight of his torment and the state of his soul made him feel as if he was nothing more than a frail old man that would be seen knocking on Death's door at any moment. But Sam was already dead, and at this point it was just wishful thinking that Death would swoop in to grant him a more peaceful ending.
Sam stumbled as he neared the end of the hall. The fleshy floors had begun to dip downward towards a darker path. He glanced over his shoulder quickly. The hall was empty behind him, for now. His attention returned towards the path ahead of him. There was no going backwards, only forward. He swallowed stiffly. His leg had just begun to move forward when the floor beneath him seemed to retaliate. His balance was thrown off as the ground began to roll like an ocean tide. Sam's arms flung out to either sides in a desperate attempt to maintain some form of balance, but it was futile. The Winchester's hands reluctantly reached out to rest against the squishy and soft tissue of the wall in front of him.
All of his focus was put towards his feet. The floor seemed to rise further and parts of it had begun to grip around Sam's ankles and feet. He pulled up, but the floor pulled back. Sam grunted with discomfort as he strained to remove even a single foot from the floor's hold. He had been so concerned with freeing his feet that he had hardly noticed the warm sensation that had begun to ooze between his fingers. Brows furrowed as narrowed eyes lifted. The ability to breathe ceased altogether as his gaze met with the face of his past beloved.
Jessica looked anguished. Blood oozed from various lacerations on her body and seeped through the cracks of Sam's fingers. Her face was charred and slightly disfigured, but he still recognized her. The flesh of her once beautiful skin was now charcoal black. Her vibrant blue eyes, which had once held such love and compassion, now reflected nothing but despair and misery. She appeared as if she had suffered eons of torture.
Horrified, Sam immediately pulled his hands away, but it was pointless. His hands had been painted red, a simple reminder of who was held accountable for her unmerited death.
"Sam...Why did you do this to me?" Her soft tone bore a pain that was beyond Sam's comprehension. It pierced through his heart. A hundred or more times of this and Sam's guilt about her death had only ever increased.
"Yeah, Sam! Why did you do this to us?!" A grizzly voice growled. Sam's eyes widened with fear as his head jerked downwards. The lively flesh of the floor that had gripped around his ankles had been replaced with two calloused and bloodied hands. A single face protruded from the depths of the floor. Blackened eyes glared scornfully up at Sam as his older brother bared his teeth in a deep scowl.
This wasn't real. Dean was alive and Jessica...
His eyes snapped shut as his jaw clenched. Sam could only hope that Jessica had found peace. That she had been allowed access to Heaven and not been forced to suffer an eternity in the fiery depths of Hell. But that's all Sam could do: hope. There would never be any sure way for him to know. For all he knew, this was what had become of the fate of her actual soul.
"Look at me, you son of a bitch!" Dean shouted, disrupting Sam's poor attempts to blot it all out. The very sound of his brother's voice seemed to rattle the core of Sam. "It's because of you that I was forced to wade in through the sh*t that I did! You could never do anything on your own!" His scorching glare seared through flesh and bone. "I was the one that was always left to clean up after you. After all of your messes! I should've done the world a favor and killed you sooner!"
Sam's heart plummeted. A stinging sensation warned the Winchester that his dams were close to breaking. The beginning of tears bubbled behind closed eyelids as Sam's thinned lips began to tremor. A deep line formed itself between narrowed brows and his vision of Dean became blurred behind the wells of his eyes as he forced himself to meet his gaze. There were many things that he wanted to say. More than anything he ached for forgiveness from his brother, but Sam knew that any words that proceeded from his mouth would fall on deaf ears. Words were meaningless here, especially when faced with countless hallucinations that materialized from the depths of one's own imagination.
"Sam...Why..?" Jessica's sorrowful voice continued to cry softly behind him. All the while Dean's shouts of disdain grew in volume as he cut Sam down in every way imaginable. Words of contemptment and hatred. Together their shouts and pleas echoed on until the sounds of their voices had become an unbearable white noise.
In a desperate attempt to silence the racket, Sam clamped his bloodied fingers over his ears, but all to no avail. He would rather endure physical torture of unimaginable pain than to be forced to be faced with this. No instrument of any kind could dismantle him as brutally as the disappointment and abhorrence of those closest to him.
It was then that a strong fist enclosed around the thick of Sam's neck. This single action seemed to catch the Winchester off guard. A look of shock flourished upon his features as alarmed eyes snapped upon his assailant. Malevolent eyes narrowed upon the tall Winchester as broken and jagged nails embedded themselves into the soft flesh of his throat. "Found you." The familiar sinister voice thrummed victoriously. The irises of Lucifer's eyes blazed like two suns that swam in a sea of crimson sclera, with a look of pure malice that never ceased to shake the Winchester.
Sam's hand lifted in a feeble attempt to break free as sharp winces emerged from behind gritted teeth. The ability to breathe became a difficult task as air escaped in shortened breaths. This hadn't been the first time that he had ended up like this. In fact, it was nearly the millionth time. It never mattered how far into the abysmal depths he ran, with every turn and every glance over his shoulder Sam could always sense Lucifer's footsteps as they shadowed close behind. Perhaps a few minor details were sometimes altered, but the end result always concluded the same. Right here, always within Lucifer's profane grasp.
"You know that you can never escape, Sammy. So why do you always try?"
The shock managed to subside now. The horror and pain of his prior illusions were tossed on the back burner as Sam snapped himself back to reality. A steel gaze hardened in his eyes as his nose crinkled with defiance. "Because...every second away from you," Sam managed through strained breaths, "...is well worth the trouble."
"Still singing that same old tune?" Lucifer mocked with a humored grin. "Come on. Two monsters like us should be working together, not apart." He cooed in that eerily calm tone of his.
Monster. That single word seemed to cut through Sam deeper than any double edged sword could. All of his life Sam had felt unusual. There had always been something that separated him from the average person and he had never been able to put a finger on it. It hadn't been until the last two years of Sam's life on Earth that his worst fear had been confirmed. Between Ruby and the angels, Sam knew with perfect clarity exactly what he was - and all that he ever would be.
"I'm not like you..." Sam growled softly, but the lack of faith in his own words was painted clearly across his face. Lucifer's head tilted as a single brow perked. It surprised him that the boy still managed to fight after all this time. He had proven be a lot stronger in spirit than Lucifer had given him credit for.
A simple shrug was offered as Sam's words were disregarded. A free hand lifted to point a condescending finger in Sam's face. "The fate of your soul is like the fate of your destiny." His finger wagged gently as a wry smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. "You can try and run away, but you'll only ever prolong the inevitable, Sam. Because, like this cage, there is no escaping from the blood in your veins."
Sam cringed at the truth of those words. His entire being had been damned since the beginning. It had never mattered how many lives he saved, how much he sacrificed, or even how much suffering and pain he had endured for the sake of others - Sam's good deeds were in vain. He was a child of darkness, he had never truly belonged as a Winchester. His only soul purpose had been to act as a catalyst for the root of all evil. Sam Winchester had been nothing more than a pawn, built specifically for Satan himself.
As if he hadn't struggled enough to accept the truth of his own damnation, every single person or thing he came into contact with also made sure to remind him. He had been faced with, not only his own scorn and self-hatred, but everyone else's. Not even his own brother had been an exception, which proved to be the worst feeling that Sam had ever known.
His habit of self sabotage only seemed to deepen with every amend he attempted to make. It never mattered how many good intentions he had, because everything he touched turned black. There would be no stopping the infectious disease that coursed through his body. It would spread like a viral plague and desecrate everything in its path, until Sam was deprived of any shredded and stitched hope that he had left. And he knew how this would end, it never changed. It would be ignorant of him to continue and deny the truth, especially when he knew that chunks of him became lost by the end of every session.
Resistance only made him drift further from any semblance of the Sam Winchester he once knew. His soul had been splintered into pieces like a broken mirror that he feared could never be repaired. Even in knowing this, Sam still wouldn't admit to anything. It didn't matter that in his heart he believed he deserved to be punished, or that he viewed his existence as a disgraceful sin just as much as everybody else. He would never give anyone, especially Lucifer, the satisfaction in knowing. He would not sway into the hands of evil, even though he knew that his perseverance would cost fragments of his soul.
"...Say whatever...you want." Sam uttered through his clenched jaw. Beams of sweat rolled along his cheeks. "But it's gonna take more than just...words...to break me... " He boldly declared as hazel hues narrowed sharply. Even if he felt beaten beyond words Sam refused to simply lay down his arms and succumb to Lucifer's will. His fortress of reverence would not crumble so easily.
A look of boredom surfaced upon Lucifer's bloodied features. "Sam..." His fingers tightened around his throat and Sam's face contorted in pain. Only a sliver of air was able to get through to his lungs now. Both of the Winchester's hands gripped around the devil's wrist as more pressure was gradually applied against his windpipe. "It's been thirty years, now..." Sam's eyes began to roll in the back of his head as a wave of heat flooded over his face. A darkness began to cloud his vision as he struggled to maintain consciousness. "And do you want to know what I enjoy most about our time together?" His other hand lifted and every bone in his fingers cracked as they flexed in preparation. "It's watching you destroy every sordid and pathetic bit of your soul, all on your own." Bloodstained teeth became exposed behind chapped lips as Lucifer's thumb continued to crush around Sam's neck. "Honestly, I don't think it's possible for anyone to do a better job at tearing down your own existence than you."
Lucifer drew his hand up as a look of indifference glossed upon his features. "Oh well. Call me optimistic, but I think that we'll be seeing eye-to-eye very soon." A wicked smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. The muscles in his hand tensed and flattened straight as all five of his jagged and sharp nails pointed towards the center of Sam's core.
A white hot pain flooded every sense. The pain shot along every nerve in Sam's body as Lucifer's hand plowed through muscle and tissue to embed itself deep within his open chest cavity. A shrill scream erupted from Sam. With every agonizing twist and turn of Lucifer's hand, Sam felt his insides implode, and the vocal chords in his throat felt like they might tear apart. A red hot glow coursed through every atom of his body. This feeling was familiar - and it only ever got worse with every encounter. Everything that he was, and all that he ever would have been, was beginning to be drawn from him. It was a rush of blistering heat that burned from the inside-out.
The impurity within Sam, the tainted blood of Azazel, was invoked by the black energy that had rooted itself in the center of his being; the place where the human soul resided, or in Sam's case, a slimmer of one. For Sam's soul had been ripped and torn beyond recognition and scattered throughout the cage. Bit by bit, for thirty years, Lucifer had robbed Sam of his character, determined to remove every last ounce until nothing of Sam Winchester remained.
At this point everything started to go fuzzy. The searing pain had begun to grow numb as all signs of consciousness began to slip away. And Sam wondered, once the darkness came, how different things would be once he awoke. Would he remember who he was? Or the life he had once lived? Would all of his memories be forgotten? Jessica. His father. His brother. Bobby. Ellen. Jo. Chuck. All of the people he saved, or whose lives he had touched. Would any of it mean anything to him anymore?
As he drifted further into black, as it seeped its way into his mind, Sam thought he heard an unusual sound. There came the soft hum of a high pitched frequency that steadily rose in volume, until the very sound threatened to make one's ears bleed. Blood and innards gushed as the hand was ripped from his body. The muffled sounds of Lucifer's agitated voice rumbled incoherently in the background. Heavy eyelids stirred as Sam made attempts to open his eyes, but it was futile. He was slipping fast and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.
Against the folds of his eyes he could sense a light. A bright light that offered something that had become completely foreign to Sam. And even though it was something that should have been easily recognized, he simply made no sense of it. He was impervious. The concept or even the idea of peace already felt like a distant memory. He felt nothing at all when the divine light shined upon him. He barely even registered that his body had been thrown as he was catapulted from the devil's grasp. But he never hit the floor...
Sam had grown so accustomed to the cruelty of this place that any act of benevolence seemed unapt. He vaguely recalled the feeling of caring hands as he was gathered up into strong arms and all of the burdens of his former life, and years spent in torment, dissolved. The dense black began to fade and in its place a gray storm cloud swept in. The darkness no longer consumed, but lingered overhead as streams of light struggled to break through. The approaching storm is the last thing that Sam remembered before everything went blank.
PART II "As my soul's laid to rest, what is left of my body - or am I just a shell?"
Several weeks had gone by since Castiel had rescued the Winchester from eternal damnation and with each day that passed, the more aware Sam became of the changes inside of him. How could he not? He had noticed right away, though the hunter in him tried to convince himself that it was the possible after effects of being ripped from one plane and to another and that after a few days or weeks he would be back to his normal self.
Nearly a month gone by and Sam had noticed no such change. Despite all the research and cases he had managed to get ahold of to occupy himself, Sam found that his mind still had too much time to wander. He was left in a constant state of questioning. He had lived twenty seven years on Earth before his death. He had had fears, worries, burdens...but more than anything he had had compassion. He knew with exact detail who he had been. Even with all of his flaws combined Sam had always had a devout heart. A troubled man with good intentions. He was a fighter; someone who strongly believed in justice and protecting the innocent, but all sense of that guy was gone now and past memories only felt like an elaborate dream.
"Something's different about me."
"Why do you say that?" Castiel asked. He tried to seem surprised by such a statement, but in reality a sense of dread had washed over him. He knew that it would have only been a matter of time before Sam started to ask questions.
"It just...it doesn't seem like I'm all here. Like something's missing..." Sam gazed inquisitively at the angel from his spot on the corner of his hotel bed.
Castiel stood motionless. His expression had not faltered one bit. What other choice did he have other than to be honest with Sam? There would be no point in lying because Castiel was intelligent enough to know what it might be like for a human to exist without a soul. That kind of emptiness was too profound to cover up with a simple white lie.
The silence went on for too long and before Castiel could construct a proper reply, Sam took a more direct approach. "I know that you know, Cas." Hazel hues trained firmly upon the angel. His words weren't a wild stab in the dark that expressed his hope of being correct. No. Sam knew with absolute certainty that the celestial being had kept something vital from him.
Sam's forthright disposition left little room for Castiel to put off any response that he had. Sharp crystalline hues narrowed as a soft line formed itself between furrowed brows. The guilt that he felt in regards to Sam Winchester had a tight hold on him. So much so that he found it nearly impossible to muster up the courage to answer truthfully and admit to his fault. Because the words that he wanted to speak would bear more than the answer Sam desired to hear, they also bore Castiel's responsibility.
When it became clear that Castiel wasn't going to provide him with an answer, Sam decided to drive the point home further. "Cas. I watched an innocent woman get killed." His tone, uncharacteristically calm, grew firm.
At last the angel found his voice. "It wasn't your faul--"
A swift hand rose to cut him off. "That's not the point." His forehead wrinkled as he emphasized his next stream of words. "It doesn't matter that I wasn't responsible for it or even if I had been. Because, either way, do you want to know what I would've felt? What I did feel?"
Castiel's eyes softened and the heart within his vessel sank. There would be no reason for the young Winchester to say, Castiel knew. It would only make his remorse for Sam intensify if he heard the answer spoken out loud.
"Nothing. Not a damn thing." Sam's deadpan expression only verified the truth of these words and Castiel looked disheartened. "In fact, I haven't felt anything since I've been back. Not about the things that I hunt, the people I save, and least of all, the people who are supposed to mean something to me. Not you, not Bobby, not even Dean." The brunette scoffed behind an ill-humored smile as his arms held out to either sides. "And I don't even care." His arms fell back in his lap as a more serious expression nestled upon his face. "And I know that I should. I should care, because that's who I was, but I don't. Not even a little."
Defeat wove behind blue eyes. Guilt overcame the angel as he held Sam's blank gaze. "Your soul..." His voice trailed off as he lowered his chin.
Total detachment presented itself in his eyes as Sam plainly repeated, "My soul?"
"...I was unable to obtain it when I infiltrated the cage. I am truly sorry." His eyes begged for some kind of forgiveness as he searched the Winchester's face.
Sam merely blinked. He showed no signs of panic or shock, or even anger. His soul was gone. It made sense. That one response put an end to all of the wondering and theorizing that Sam had slaved over for weeks. Not because he had cared or felt the need to cure his unwholesome state, but rather because the logical part of him had simply needed to know. Now he knew.
A brief silence passed as the Winchester took time to process this information before a breath of air was inhaled and a light, "it's fine," dismissed the angel's apology. Bearing no further concern, whatsoever, over the topic, Sam rose to his feet and moved to collect his duffel bag.
Castiel stood still. A frown formed upon his lips as sad eyes lingered upon the boy while he began to pack his things. For two years he had watched over the Winchester brothers. He had grown accustomed to the way both of them were, as brothers and as individuals. Sam had been the most burdened, and yet somehow had always managed to put his own needs behind to give help and provide sympathy to others. His altruistic nature had always been one of Castiel's favorite qualities about Sam, his second one being Sam's inexhaustible compassion.
Now as the ebony haired angel watched Sam all he saw was a shell. He was dressed up and alive on the surface, but inside Sam was hollow and empty, just like a stage puppet left without its puppeteer. His actions would be meaningless without the strings of his soul to bring them to life. The saddest thing was knowing that Sam held absolutely zero interest in finding out more or even asking if there would be a way to fix it.
Feeling the angel's eyes glued upon him, Sam paused from folding a pair of jeans and met his gaze. "What?"
Concern replaced his apparent guilt as Castiel tilted his head. He knew that he should not have expected a typical Sam response, but even without a soul Castiel had thought that more questions would have been asked. The extent of Sam's lack of caring disturbed him.
The despondent gaze vanished from his face as he quickly replied, "Nothing.." Castiel forced his usual stoic expression as his posture straightened. "I should return to my brothers. There's a lot of work to be done...but I swear to you, Sam, that I will find a way to fix this."
Sam searched the angel's face for a stint. He felt that Castiel's concern was unnecessary, but knew from past memories how his usual self would have felt. A simple, "alright," was issued in response before the gentle flutter of wings was heard and Sam was left alone.
6 MONTHS LATER
"You'll let me go, won't you? You understand!" The cries of hysteria were barely coherent as a curly redhead fell to her knees.
A look of sympathy bore deep behind hazel hues as Sam gazed down at the woman. Blood and tears smeared against the skin of his wrist as she clung to him tightly. A calloused hand slid over her red stained one as Sam slowly lowered himself to her level, ignoring all of the blood that had pooled around them. His forehead wrinkled with compassion as he softly spoke. "I understand...believe me."
Sobs racked through her entire body before her other hand clutched desperately around his. Wet and bloodshot eyes lifted to stare into his face of divine empathy. "I n-never meant t-to hurt anyone!" She pleaded. "Please...please, please!" More cries of hysteric erupted as she keeled over. Her head rested against the back of his hand as the tears continued to flow.
Sam's other arm moved to weave around her in a comforting embrace. "It's okay. I know you never meant for any of this to happen. But I need to know where he's at now..." His voice was calm. "Where is he, Lauren?"
The woman took a few moments to settle herself down. When the tears came less, she sniffled and sat up. Crimson fluid smudged against her pale skin as she wiped her face with the back of her hand. Her vibrant blue eyes steered upward to meet Sam's gaze as she weakly responded, "The old tunnels beneath the shop..." Shame and guilt mingled upon her features. "Please....I'm so sorry."
The Winchester offered a sad smile as his hand slid from around her to rest against her shoulder. "Is he the only one that you helped?" Lauren's eyes welled with more tears as she reluctantly nodded. It was then that all signs of empathy and compassion wiped clean from Sam's face. His fingers clamped tightly over her shoulder as a cold and empty gaze penetrated through her. Not a single word was spoken as a sharpened blade plowed deep into her stomach. The vast hollowness of his eyes frightened the redhead as she peered in shock and wonder at him.
With a quick twist and a jerk the blade was ripped from her insides. Blood splattered as she fell upon the puddle that already coated the floor. Her face contorted in pain for a few moments before the blood loss brought an end to her life. Sam glanced down at the tainted knife in his hand and wiped it off on the sleeve of his jacket. The woman hadn't been a demon, or something supernatural of any kind, she had been just a mere human - but with the blood on her hands she was considered no better than the monster Sam was after.
Steel hazel eyes shifted towards the door. Thanks to Lauren, Sam knew exactly where to go to put an end to the ghoul that had claimed so many lives in this neighborhood. His hunt would have gone on for much longer if it had not been for his practiced skill. Over the past few months he had learned quickly how much easier life was without the burden of human emotions. Things were less complicated and decisions came quick. He had become the most efficient hunter, and the fact that he had mastered the art of faking emotions only made him that much more adept.
With one last glance towards the deceased redhead, Sam tucked his knife away and headed towards the door. Tonight this case would finally close.
---
Bloodied instruments were tossed into the trunk of his car as Sam reached up to wipe sweat and blood from his forehead. The ghoul had put up one hell of a fight, but it had never truly stood a chance against Sam. A deep breath was inhaled as the trunk was slammed closed. The air in his lungs expelled with a sense of satisfaction as he spun his car keys around his finger.
Long strides led him to the driver's side of his black 1968 Cadillac. The door was opened and he seated himself inside. The key was placed inside the ignition before the engine cranked to life. Sam threw it in drive and peeled off into the road.
The Cadillac roared down the interstate as it weaved its way in and out of traffic. It didn't purr quite like the engine of an Impala, but it had provided a sense of familiarity for Sam. His hands gripped firmly around the steering wheel. This car would never compare to Baby in the way that it handled, but it had already proven its worth over the course of five months. In that short amount of time the wheels of his car had traveled across more than half of the country. It had seen lots of sights, been on countless hunts, and even provided a place of rest for its owner on more than one occasion.
This car, the majority of the time, had been Sam's only company. He hadn't bothered to see Dean once since his return from the pit and he had no intentions of ever doing so. The only person from his previous life he had made contact with had been Bobby, and that was only so Sam could find out about any of his old belongings. It had turned out to be a good idea, because Dean, unable to stomach the belongings of his deceased brother, had pawned all of it off onto Bobby. That aside, with all of the anarchy in Heaven, Castiel had had his hands full and rarely found time to check up on Sam, which he was actually grateful for. The angel had begun to smother the brunette and the more time that passed the more adamant Castiel became about getting his soul back. At first Sam had thought nothing of it. If the angel had felt it was necessary, then Sam would simply go along with it. However, after months of being like this, he had come to realize how burdensome emotions were. They were more trouble than they were worth.
Soulless Sam was completely logical, it's how he functioned and how he thought. Behind every action there would be logical thinking attached to it. The idea of regaining his human soul displeased him. The old Sam had carried enough baggage around when he had emotions that it was a miracle he hadn't offed himself sooner. This Sam wasn't entirely keen to experience that degree of misery and self sabotage all over again, and he had all of the old Sam's memories to serve as a strong reminder of why it was better to leave his soul in that bottomless pit.
A muffled ring soon penetrated through the silence of the car. The ringing came from a phone and it wasn't the one stashed away inside of Sam's coat pocket. The Winchester's brows furrowed with curiosity as his eyes trailed towards the closed glove compartment. He leaned over and swiftly opened it to look at the small collection of his old phones that he had managed to collect off of Bobby. The vibrations of the ringing phone rattled against the compartment before it was plucked from its spot. Hazel hues glanced at the unknown number before his thumb wedged between the fold of the phone to flip it open. His eyes returned to the road as he answered. "Hello?"
"Yes, this is Ms. Cathia calling from Sacred Heart Hospital for a Sam Winchester?"
"This is him. What's the problem?" The fact that a hospital was calling for him only piqued his curiosity.
"You were listed as an emergency contact for a Miss. Jessica Moore. She checked into the hospital with various bruises and injuries. Sh--"
"Wait, what?" Sam interjected, in his usual monotone voice, which the woman probably mistook for insensitivity. "Jessica Moore?" The name was spoken as if he expected the woman to correct some sort of mistake she had made.
"Yes." Her tone made it apparent that she found his response to be very odd. "..Is there a problem?" Now her voice seemed wary. Perhaps there was some history between these two folks that wasn't entirely good. The last thing this nurse wanted was to bring in somebody that might cause more stress for the woman.
The nurse's inquiry was heard, but Sam remained quiet as his mind drifted. Jessica Moore, alive? His former love, the only woman in his life that had been his entire world. She was dead, he watched her die. This only caused the hunter in him to begin questioning what was actually going on. Who or what had taken Jessica's identity?
Realizing that his silence had gone on longer than what would be acceptable, Sam quickly responded. "No. There's no problem." If he was going to get to the bottom of this, he had to bring the old Sam back. Hazel eyes hardened with focus as he allowed himself to slip into character. "I just...It's been awhile since I've seen her." His voice altered completely. Shock and concern laced in his words. "Is she okay? Is everything alright?"
"Everything's fine, Mr. Winchester." The lady assured him, and seemed to be relieved at his change of tone. "If you could just swing by and collect Miss. Moore to take her home, that would probably be in her best interest. I think some much needed rest is what she needs."
"Right. Of course." Sam dug around the inside pocket of his jacket. "Uh, real quick, could you tell me the address for your hospital?" A notepad was retrieved, along with a pen, as his phone was held against his face with his shoulder. He jotted down the information before he spoke a quick thanks and hung up the phone. His cold, empty eyes narrowed as possible suspects and other various theories scrolled through his head. There was no way that it was Jessica, so logically, some demon or creature had taken her form. With his last case having just closed, Sam simply viewed this as another hunting gig. This new case would require some investigation, and that would start with interrogation of this thing.
|
