Supernatural Fan Fiction ❯ We Didn't Start The Fire ❯ Akin To Pain ( Chapter 1 )

We didn't start the fire.

It was always burning since the world's been turning.

We didn't start the fire.

No, we didn't light it but we tried to fight it.

 

- - - - - - - - - - -

 

It was a slow night at Memorial Hospital and Medical Clinic. Or at least, the emergency phone service was slow. Now, that could be considered a good thing, and actually it was a good thing.

 

But good things have a habit of running off when you least expect it, and just as the emergency dispatcher was in the middle of falling asleep on the job, the phone began to jangle in a most irritating fashion.

 

“Memorial Emergency Dispatch. Please state your—”

 

“I'm calling to report an accident.”

 

XXX

 

Dean Winchester couldn't figure out what the sounds meant. They were loud, and piercing, and repetitive. Over and over again, they screeched…over and over again, and not a thing could block them out.

 

A part of Dean's incredibly fuzzy brain tried to put a name to the noise, but it just made his head pound more than it already was, so he let it go. It was obvious that he wasn't going to be able to think of it right now anyway.

 

In fact, he couldn't think at all. Not to wonder what had happened, not to figure out what was going on now, not even to do anything. Nor could he feel.

 

That was wrong. Distantly, he knew that was wrong…

 

The incessant screeches stopped, and Dean felt a pang of relief. There were a few slamming sounds that jarred the ache in his head and pushed it up about a hundred notches, and then, at last, a sound he recognized without having to wonder about it.

 

“Sir, were you the one to call in?”

 

“Uh…uh, yeah…”

 

“All right. Did you see what happened?”

 

“No…I…”

 

“Sir, please, I need you to try and stay calm, and tell me everything.”

 

A deep intake of breath, and then the man's voice spoke again. “I was driving, and…and I saw a broken fence and…a car, on the side of the road. Like…way on the side of the road. So I stopped, and…I mean, I didn't really expect anyone to be in there. I just…didn't. So I went to look, and they were just…lying there. And there was blood and…and that's when I called 911.”

 

“Okay. Thank you…”

 

And then the clarity of the voices faded, and for a while, there were just noises and faint murmurs that made no sense to Dean.

 

And then a voice suddenly rang clearly in his ears, sounding very close, and accompanied by a deep, sorrowful sigh. “This one's cold, guys.”

 

Dean couldn't for the life of him figure out what that meant, and he didn't really want to.

 

Another sigh, and then another man spoke. “I'll check on the one in the back.”

 

More thuds and unfamiliar sounds, and someone touched Dean's wrist. He felt an urge to jerk away, but he couldn't. He still couldn't do anything, or even really want to do anything. But his head was still clearing, as if only a little. Maybe soon he'd be able to open his eyes.

 

“This guy's alive,” a voice said over his head. “I need some help over here now!”

 

After that the world dissolved into a flood of confusing medical jargon overlapped with other things, and then Dean felt someone lifting him. The movement jolted him, sped up his slow climb back to consciousness, and for just a moment, he felt everything—the pain from each individual bruise, multiplied what felt like a thousand times, accompanied by fear and combined it all made him want to scream and do nothing but scream until—

 

And then someone spoke up, sounding truly baffled.

 

“Wait…where's the driver?”

 

Dean fell back into the darkness.

 

XXX

 

Sam stayed where he was even after Dean and John had burned to ash, watching the flames slowly extinguish themselves. He didn't feel any regret, but he didn't feel anything else, either. He was just…numb, as he had never been before.

 

As he stood there, he ran his mind over everything that had happened to him in the last days. That night John Winchester had been possessed, the night Dean had nearly died at the hands of his own father, the night Sam had put a bullet into him…

 

And the accident. That horrible accident…

 

He had been driving. He knew that much.. But he couldn't seem to remember where the truck had come from. Not that it mattered in the long run, but he really would have liked to know something that huge and…lethal…could have gotten past his senses.

 

And it looked like he would never find out.

 

But it doesn't matter, does it? Because something much more important happened that night.

 

For that was the night that Sam had become what he was truly meant to be.

 

XXX

 

Dr. Walter Richardson was exhausted. Truly, deeply exhausted. He had been on the clock for what seemed like countless hours, and he'd spent most of it in the most absolutely painful wing of the entire hospital one could possibly work on.

 

The Intensive Care Unit had seemed even more depressing than usual lately, for some reason. Maybe it was because he was tired. Or maybe it was because of the eight patients on this floor right now, half of them had taken a turn for the worst since this afternoon. Or maybe it was because he just felt so old right now.

 

But finally, finally, he could be done for the night. He had done his duties—gone above and beyond, actually—and now he could go off-call at last. Well, barring some kind of disaster anyway…

 

“Dr. Richardson. Paging Dr. Richardson to the ER.”

 

The doctor groaned.

 

Just had to go and think that, didn't I?

 

XXX

 

Should I feel…sad now? Sam wondered idly as he reached the end of his trip down memory lane. It had only been a few days, and he was already forgetting all of the old feelings that used to weigh so heavily on his spirit. And not only was when he was supposed to feel them, but how to feel them and, oh, but it was wonderful.

 

“Have you finished what you needed to do?”

 

Sam half-turned to glance at the man who was, suddenly and without warning, standing next to him, his eyes on the blaze, and inclined his head, just slightly. “It's done.”

 

The man nodded, looking satisfied. “And do you understand now?”

 

Sam didn't have to ask what he was supposed to understand. “I do. You told me to do this because…I needed to cut ties with the past.”

 

“And now that you have…?”

 

Once, Sam would have shied violently from talking to anyone about his feelings, much less this almost-complete stranger. Now…well, he had changed. A lot.

 

“I feel…free.”

 

His companion smiled. “Freedom tends to give you that.”

 

Sam chuckled softly. “Yeah, I guess it does.” His voice dropped slightly. “I…can't believe it's over. I can't believe they're gone.”

 

“Do you regret it?”

 

Sam thought about it, but not for long. “No. Not exactly. I just…they were apart of me for so long. That whole life…it made me. I guess I'm just surprised that it could end so quickly. So easily. It's…strange.”

 

“Life is strange, Sammy.”

 

Sam tensed and his voice was suddenly harsh. “It's SAM.”

 

And then silence reigned.

 

XXX

 

The man was barely in his mid-teens, and Dr. Richardson felt his depression rise again. He quelled the sentiment determinedly, and forced himself to do his job, and only his job.

 

One of the EMTs filled him in as they wheeled Dean Winchester—identity discovered via his wallet—down to an exam room. Well, filled him in as much as possible during the frantic attempt to keep the patient alive.

 

All in all, this case was quite similar to all the other ER episodes—shut down all emotion, get the guy stabilized, get a prognosis, find out who to call, and get the hell outta Dodge before it became too much.

 

And at some point, it always became too much.

 

XXX

 

Sam wasn't the one who broke the silence, although he probably would have if given a few more seconds.

 

As it happened, though, the demon spoke first. “You still carry them, then.”

 

Sam's first instinct was to protest. “That's not—”

 

“If my calling you by the nickname that your family gave you makes you angry, then you still carry them,” the demon said calmly. “It meant that the memory pains you, and as long as you let it do so, you will never be able to truly shake off your old self.”

 

“I…I'm sorry,” Sam said, because he had no idea what else to say.

 

“No, that's not what I want. To apologize is to indicate that you've done something wrong.”

 

“But I thought that—”

 

“Sam, one thing that you have to understand is that people with our level of power are never wrong. So we never apologize.”

 

Sam tried to form an answer to that and failed, miserably.

 

XXX

 

There was no one to call.

 

Dr. Richardson never knew whether to feel relieved or sad or just angry when that happened. Relieved, because if there was no one to call, the doctor could be saved from the horrible feeling he got when he had to talk to family of the dying. Sad, because the thought of having no one was just…so horrible. Or angry, because of the very idea of anyone having to be alone.

 

So, as usual, he decided not to think about it, and instead focused on the patient himself.

 

Dean Winchester was in a coma, brought on by internal injuries and severe bleeding. Incredibly, he had no broken bones, but even without them he had quite enough damage to be getting on with. And most mysterious was that slice across the chest. Dr. Richardson could not, for the life of him, figure out where that could have come from.

 

The coma wasn't a heavy one, but that didn't mean that Dean Winchester was out of the woods. Not by any means.

 

But even so, there was nothing more he himself could do here. The surgery was over, and now the only thing to do was watch and wait.

 

And anyone could handle that.

 

And that meant that Dr. Richardson could go home at last.

 

I really need to look into early retirement. Very early retirement.

 

XXX

 

“You're wondering why I brought the subject up if I didn't want an apology,” the demon said, after another long silence.

 

“Well…yeah,” Sam admitted, because he had learned quickly that lying to this…entity…was entirely pointless and—depending on the nature of the lie—sometimes dangerous.

 

“I want you to realize that the pain these memories bring you doesn't have to be bad. In fact, it can be very useful.”

 

Sam didn't ask—if he just stayed quiet, the demon who was now his mentor would soon explain himself.

 

“Sam, contrary to the opinion of the smaller-minded population, pain isn't something to be shunned. You should embrace it, let it become apart of you. And once it does, it will no longer affect you. In fact, it will strengthen you, because you'll be able to look back on your mistakes without unhappiness and anger clouding your judgment. And if you can think on them, you can act on them, and change things.”

 

It made a strange sort of sense.

 

“I see. But how do I make it happen?”

 

The demon smiled coolly. “I can't tell you that, because everyone is different. But I can tell you how to begin.”

 

Sam nodded, and lowered his head, this time submissively. “Yes…Father.”

 

XXX

 

And in a quiet hospital room someplace that was not where Sam was, another man was hovering fitfully between the worlds of the living and the dead.

 

- - - - - - - - - - -

 

We didn't start the fire.

It was always burning since the world's been turning.

We didn't start the fire.

But when we are gone

It will still burn on, and on, and on, and on…

 

- - - - - - - - - -

 

AN: I know, I know, long wait, short chapter. But I think this is as good a time as any to warn you readers that this fic is probably gonna be comprised of the shortest chapters I've ever written, because I have very specific ideas of where each chapter should end, and it doesn't take long to get there.

 

But the good news is, I finished my book last night, so I can go back to writing more often now. So the wait probably won't be as long this time around.

 

Please review!!!