They call me the Anti-Christ

Cos all of the stars
Are fading away
Just try not to worry
You'll see them some day
Take what you need
And be on your way
And stop crying your heart out
- Oasis “Stop Crying Your Heart Out”

The nightmares were horrible, and Sam could barely sleep for weeks after it happened. He closed his eyes and all he saw was her on the ceiling, whispering his name before bursting into flames. Sometimes her eyes were sad, and sometimes they were angry and full of blame.

Every time he woke up to find Dean looking over at him, worried eyes not sure what to say to make it better. It was the first time Dean wasn't going to be able to solve a problem of his. Only later would Sam realize that it was the first of many.

But one time, Dean was standing there with a cup of coffee, a small smirk on his face. "Drink this. It'll keep you up for a few hours."

"Thanks." Sam ran his hand through his hair, then took the cup. Dean tilted his head, then motioned towards Sam's wrist.

"You expecting to grow it out long enough to make a little topknot?"

"Huh?" Sam looked at his wrist, then his expression fell. "Oh. No."

Dean noticed the look and sat on the bed opposite from him. "It's Jess', huh?"

Sam nodded, thinking back to a few weeks ago...

( . . . )

After what happened that night, Sam couldn't risk it. Lucifer was trying to find him, and it was only Castiel's etchings in his ribs that was keeping him safe.

But how long that was going to last, Sam didn't know. He didn't know, and the idea that Lucifer would do anything to get into him scared him more than he had ever felt before. So he did what he had to and broke all the remaining ties that he had with people besides Bobby - he swore long ago not to shut Bobby out ever - packed up his gear and got out of town before the sun was even up.

He left a goodbye note for Lindsay, apologizing for what had happened to her. He had started to like her, just as a friend and he had already nearly gotten her killed. Not again. Not to her... or anyone else.

After that, anyone who tried to call Sam - except Bobby and the rare instance that Dean would want to reach out - they would get this.



ooc: not going on hiatus. Sam is just going into hiding in canon verses until at least next Thursday. No guarantees he will respond either.

Sam was grateful to Oliver for loaning him the beach house in Florida for a few days. It was good to be able to just sit on the beach and stare out at nothing for hours, letting his mind figure things out. And the fact Sam had made himself a nice little salt-water moat around his chair was for his own self-amusement on top of his protection.

He had been gone almost a week, and except for responding to a few texts, had not really done a lot in reaching out to people. Today he planned on changing that, so he had a small table with his laptop and cell phone next to him, and sent out to his contacts the following message:

Sitting on the beach and realized I've been too quiet lately. I've got my phone and laptop if anyone wants to chat. You know how to find me.

And he left it at that while he sat back and pulled out the book he had started to read from Oliver's small library - The Alchemist.

ooc: takes place during the season 2 ender. Thanks to iluvroadrunner6 and gusthemoose for bits of research help.

C'mere, c'mere -- lemme look atcha. Hey, look at me. It's not even that bad. It's not even that bad, alright? Sammy? SAM! Hey, we're gonna patch ya up, alright? You'll be good as new. I'm gonna take care of you. I gotcha. That's my job, right? Watch out for my pain in the ass little brother. Sam? Sam...


"Sam?"

His eyes drifted open, having fallen asleep when he felt his brother's arms around him and the soft, white light wrapping around the fuzz in his head, laying him to rest gently. He wasn't expecting the soft voice calling his name, and it took him a moment to adjust to the bright light before his eyes focused.

"There you are. Time to wake up, sleepyhead."

Sam blinked, then sat up and rubbed at his eyes. Then he just looked at the woman kneeling next to him. "... Jess?"

Her bright smile welcomed him as her hand come to rest against his cheek. "Yeah, it's me, Sam. It's really me."

"I don't understand. How..." he brows moved in in confusion, then he looked at her in fear. "Dean?"

"He's fine. Well, not fine, but he's alive. Other than that, I don't know." She stood up, holding her hand out to help Sam stand up.

"Alive... then I'm..."

Jess nodded, squeezing his hands as Sam stood up. "I'm sorry, Sam." She pulled him into a tight hug, holding him close. Sam was hesitant, and then he hugged her back gently at first, then tightly.

( . . . )

It was on the third day that Sam found her knife. Dean had gotten them to safety, hiding them from humans and angels alike until they could get their bearings. Bobby knew where they were... vaguely. They didn't need him to get involved in this at the moment.

Dean had left to get them some things. Sam... hadn't been very mobile in the time since he had been dragged from the nunnery. Dean had barely gotten him to the car, then into the bed. He had slept for almost a day, so worn out and emotionally drained that he had just hidden under the rough motel blanket and tried to ignore the world.

But all they had right now was his... Ruby's car. The few things that he had in it, which wasn't much in the way of clothing or toiletries. Just a few weapons, his laptop... not much else.

He had hoped to find himself at least a clean pair of underwear in his bag as he dug around, but instead his fingers came across the handle of her knife. Holding it for a moment, he sat on the edge of the bed, lost in thought.

( . . . )

ooc: Hear the Song Here

He was waiting at the hotel in the honeymoon suite, having just gotten Ruby on the phone. He had driven through the night until he found this place. When was the last time he slept? Ate? Drank?

Ruby was on her way. It would be over soon, Sam. Lay down and sleep, and the time will go fast and then she would be there and everything would be alright and the pain would stop.

But it didn't. His hallucinations still talked in his head, replaying over and over. He felt Alastair cutting into him, crying out in pain and knowing he would never have lasted a day in Hell if this was what waited for him.

He couldn't last a day... Dean lasted thirty years. Dean is stronger than him... he... he could do this. Maybe...

Your brother doesn't understand... Dean can never know how strong you are... because Dean is weak.

( . . . )

The greatest conflicts are not between two people, but between one person and himself.
-Garth Brooks

"Hey guys... this isn't funny. Guys? GUYS!"

The first few hours were full of screams, pounding fists, digging nails into the edges of the window plate and the door frame until his fingers were bleeding and his throat was raw. He slowly slid to the ground, gasping curses and damnation to anyone who could still hear him. For all he knew, they were gone and he would never see them again.

That was the fear that brought nightmares when he passed out. Nightmares of him becoming a demon and killing people. Family. finally he woke up screaming, covered in sweat.

He needed it. He needed it bad and he was shaking and it hurt.

"Dean... Dean let me out. You have to let me out..."

( . . . )