Song Remains the Same

Chapter 84: The Resurrection and the Life

"Love is not a victory march... it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah."
- Leonard Cohen

About A Week Ago...

The world spun around Sam. He didn't remember where he was or what had happened. He had no idea where his family was. All he knew was that the house (it was a house, right?) was burning down around him and maniacal laughter filled his ears so loudly that his vision swam.

Have to get away. Have to get away!

He staggered madly down a narrow hallway toward a far doorway where he could see daylight vaguely through tilting, blurring vision. His only thought was of escape. Now. One of his legs was dragging behind him uselessly—his thigh was gashed open for reasons he couldn't remember, his head was pounding, his left arm hung uselessly at his side, broken. He tasted blood in his mouth and he had this terrifying gut feeling that he was as good as dead. Behind him, he could hear pursuers and chains jingling, bones crunching.

Have to get AWAY!

He was breathing so hard and fast that he was almost hyperventilating at that point. He knew there was no escape, Lucifer was right behind him... it was over.

At that very moment, his right hand inexplicably caught fire and he screamed as he fell to his knees in a heavy tumble. He beat his hand against the floor to try and put out the flames. But he didn't have success. Excruciating pain seared his skin as the fire crawled up his arm. It began to consume him all over and he flailed, shouting and screaming unintelligible sounds of pain as he hurt his broken arm further with his clumsiness and floundering. The laughter continued and Sam sobbed out a cry for help that sounded very much like his older brother's name. But he knew no help would come.

And then, without warning, it all disappeared. Hell was jarringly replaced by a quiet, ramshackle cabin. Sam was sitting against a wall on the floor of a hallway with his legs bent awkwardly and his lungs racing to try and breathe air in. Nothing was on fire, but his injuries—those were real. His arm was broken at the elbow and hurt so bad, his upper leg was cut open in a huge gash—everything ached in severe pain. He felt a stinging sensation on his forehead and he touched fingers to the epicenter of the pain—blood came away on his fingertips. But... why? He looked around in a daze of fearful confusion, momentarily not even knowing where he was or what was real and what wasn't real—where was this? What was he doing here? Where had all these injuries come from?

And then he remembered—it all came crashing down—and he covered his face in a hand as a soft sob came out. He remembered all of it. And as such, he slowly looked down the hallway from where he'd just come. Oh god.

Cas had disappeared with his dead sister in his arms, leaving Sam alone with the bodies of his brother and uncle. He remembered that despite his breakdown of grief and panic, he had managed to wander a few miles away from Crowley's laboratory to find a car to steal. He remembered that he had managed to drive that car back to the lab through his hallucinations and despair. He remembered that he had dragged and carried Dean and Bobby out of the building and then tried to drive back to Bobby's but had barely made it even thirty minutes before the visions and grief got too much to handle. He had lost control of the car and crashed into a tree in the middle of nowhere, totaling the vehicle. He remembered thinking it was a wonder he wasn't dead after that accident. And finally, he remembered carrying and dragging Bobby and Dean despite his crippling injuries to this cabin that had just-so-happened to be a mile from where he crashed. He remembered laying them down onto the bed in the back of the house. And as he remembered everything, Sam felt himself wishing he had died in that car crash. Because if he had been killed, at least he would be like the rest of his family.