They call me the Anti-Christ

Just for Bobby at the moment... others to join later...

They were in North Dakota according to the map that Alec and Dean had been looking at. There was something in the back of Sam's mind that found the town familiar. Little fireflies in his mind, wanting to guide him again.

Why were there fireflies in his mind? He always saw freflies, no matter where they went.

He had sat in the Impala after Dean and Alec went to bed because he was trying to figure this out when one big firefly came by the window, beckoning him to follow it. So he did, walking along the fields quickly as he tried to catch it.

When he was able to catch them, he remembered things. But the things he remembered with them would always fly away again. Out of his mind and into the wind. Not like the memories that Dean gave him.

He had a few now. Memory of a tape measure. Of a necklace. Small things and they were always of him as a kid. There were no adult memories. And Sam wondered why.

Soon, the firefly led him along the path to a junkyard. Sam could see all the magic here, trendils that wove a web in a white light. He was careful as he walked, not wanting to touch a single strand of it until he got to the door where the firefly had landed.

Sam tilted his head, reaching for the insect and wrapping his fingers around it roughly. Which on the other side of the door would sound like someone had knocked.

ooc: Dean = jstliketherifle, Alec = smart_alec494. Happiness is a Warm Gun 'verse


The world doesn't look that much different from behind black eyes as it does through green ones. Sam found that unusual in some ways, but comforting in others.

Sam blinks to his hazel eyes and stares at the tree. It's a tree. Green leaves with a few starting to turn yellow. There's a squirrel up in the branches working on an acorn. A bird is singing somewhere in the distance.

Blink to black. The tree is still there. It's darker though, and the green leaves glow with life. The yellowing ones look sick. The squirrel still sits there, a blue pulsing glow with the heartbeat. The bird still sings, and the ghost that stands next to the tree of the little girl is clapping and reaching her hands up into the air to try and catch it.

Hazel. Two bodies in the motel, the door open in case he decides to come in. Dean. Alec. Dean doesn't yell at him sitting on the hood of the Impala. He doesn't dare make a dent though.

Black. Two bodies in the motel. Dean is a red glow, Alec is a purple glow. Alec is not fully human, Sam notes. He is more, and Sam wants to know what it is. But he can not find the words to ask.

But it doesn't matter what eyes Sam looks at the Impala with. With black or hazel eyes, the Impala still looks like home to him.

There wasn't much that he could remember before the pain. The pain... it was something Sam remembered too well. Too well..

His dad had been there, trying to pull the meat hooks from his body. But the yellow eyed demon had come, jumping on the chains before attacking John, taking him deeper into the bowels of hell and leaving him alone.

Years had to have passed, so long... so long on the hooks that Sam forgot who he really was. But when he saw fire in the pits below him, he remembered a blonde girl on the ceiling. Sometimes he remembered a face, words like jerk and feelings like loss when seeing the face.

Then there were whispers. Voices. And then bright light as a door opened in front of him. Demons rushed through the chains, aiming on their escape. And then the man who had left him long ago grabbed the chains, pulling him free. Sam screamed in pain, confused and lost, and then he found himself in the woods, hovering in a tree.

Alone.

Other demons had talked to him, and he watched them take over bodies. In california, he found a kid on the streets who was about to die from drug overdose... Sam couldn't take over a body that had a live person in it... that was wrong to him... and he made his way to a truck stop.

He made his way back to Kansas. Something about Kansas said home to him, and he wandered the streets until he snuck into a motel room and just curled up on the bed.

Softly he whispered the same word over again. Dean. Dean. dean dean dean dean dean....

That was a year ago. Now, he remembered a name. Sam. It might have been his name, so he took it. People asked him who he was and he said Sam. They asked him what he was looking for. Dean.

No one understood him, and he just kept going from motel to motel. He saw a motel and he thought of Dean. Dean must be in a motel, so that was where he would look.

dean dean dean dean deandeandeandeandeandeandeandean