Miles To Go
Okay, this is just a little short piece intended to be a kind of prologue for a series I have in mind. This is set in AHBL. This is what Sam experienced—and forgot—when he was dead. Let me know what you think.
Warnings: None, really. I don't think there's anything socking or sexy or spoilery in here.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. I do not own Sam or Dean. If I did own Sam or Dean, I'd probably be way too distracted to write :3 .
He didn't hurt anymore. That was the first thing Sam noticed as he lay quietly. He didn't hurt anymore.
The burning, blaring pain in his back was gone, and the wrenching ache in his shoulder, and the thousand other little hurts. He didn't hurt anymore.
In fact, he felt the best he'd felt in a long time. The aching hunger he'd never really noticed had disappeared and so had the heavy-headed sleepiness and the headache that never quite went away anymore—the results of grieve and anxiety and crippling, painful visions. He couldn't remember ever feeling so good, even when Jess was alive and life was simpler.
Sam warily cracked an eyelid, not sure what to expect. He couldn't see much. It was misty all around, leaving the world soft and featureless. But he wasn't afraid. He knew he should have been, waking up not knowing where he was or how he got there (again); but he wasn't.
The air smelled sweet and the mist was light and breezy rather than the dark, ominous fog he was far more used to. The ground (floor?) underneath his back was smooth and cool. He sat up, enjoying the pull and flex of muscles that weren't sore or cramped or torn for once. Sam stood, stretched his long frame, and breathed deeply the fragrant air.
It was more than just his physical pain that was gone, Sam realized as he took a few cautious steps forward. The anger and rage and fear and self-loathing and terrible, terrible grief he'd had for so long were gone as well. He felt—calm. As he walked through the mist he marveled at the truly serene feeling that blanketed his weary soul. He'd never felt like this before, not even in the peaceful morning hours with sweet dreams waiting for him and Jess in his arms, not even with a hunt successfully ended and Dean watching over him.
The mist thinned and he found himself in a forest. A deep, deep wood with ancient trees grown thick and tall and he was reminded of stories where trees had true power and even sentience, the kind of trees long since sacrificed to man's hubris and greed. Sam never really felt his height despite the fact that he towered over other people, but he hadn't felt small for a long time, either. These trees made him feel small, minute. They had trunks that were smooth and creamy and thick, blue-green foliage high above. They seemed to almost glow in the mist and Sam was tempted to just wander through the wood and see what he could find.
The woods were so very, very still. Not the macabre stillness of the grave, but a peaceful stillness that was full of life. A part of him wanted to stay here forever.
"Sam."
The soft, sweet voice came from behind him. Sam felt his breath catch in his throat—he knew that voice. He turned.
"Jess."
There she was, as beautiful as ever. He long blond hair flowed freely and her beautiful eyes shown kindly at him. She wore a long white dress and looked so pure, pristine. Sam had begun to wonder if his memories of Jessica had been softened by grief, but no; she was just as perfect as he remembered. There was a light around her, so subtle he had not noticed it at first in the pale mist.
"Jess, oh my God." Sam wanted to run over and hug her, but something about her seemed so distant, so perfect, like freshly fallen snow, that he could not make himself break the stillness lest he leave footprints. Jess smiled kindly.
"Its been a while, Sam." Her voice was so melodic that even mundane phrases sounded like a song.
"Where…where are we? Am I…dead?" Sam's quick mind put two and two together.
"Yes, and at the same time no. This is a place of waiting."
"Waiting for what?" Sam was confused and troubled. Mostly, he was troubled by the fact the he didn't seem to feel great joy or sorrow—he should be running toward Jess, kissing and hugging her and crying like a fool. He should be worrying himself sick about Dean. Instead, he felt that same tranquility. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn't regret it. He needed the moment of piece.
"You're no longer alive, but today is not your day to die. You can't go back without help, but you cannot go forward before your time—whenever that might be." Jess's reactions were wrong as well. She had been beautiful and smart and wise beyond her years, but never like this. This Jess gave off the feeling of a sage or an…an angel.
"What does that mean? When is my day? Are you an angel?"
"So many questions, Sam; always so many questions. It's a good quality," Jess stopped for a moment, looking down at her clasped hands and gathering her thoughts before looking Sam in the eye again.
"Yes, Sam. I am an angel."
"But that's not possible. Humans cannot be angels."
"And angels cannot be human. They are two mutually exclusive states of being, but not without the opportunity for change. Matter cannot be created or destroyed, but it can be converted into energy. It is much the same with humans and angels. One cannot be both, but can become either. After I died I was given a choice. This was my decision." There was something like regret in her face, but it was a cool, distant regret. Distant like all of the other emotions she'd shown.
"You're different."
"Yes—that is what it means to become an angel. To give up that which makes us human."
"And angels can't love." Grief lapped at the edges of his calm.
"Not the way humans do. Nor can they hate or grieve or fear the way humans do. For every gain there must be sacrifice. This is balance."
Sam felt his grief deepen, but aloofly. Whatever it was about this place that had given him peace was still hard at work.
"Sam, there is not much time. You have other questions."
Sam closed his eyes and collected himself. It was far easier than is should have been.
"What do you mean 'today was not my day'—for that matter 'whenever that might be'. If you don't know when my time is, then how do you know its not today?"
"Everyone has a day to die. Today is not your day. But it is more than destiny that is responsible for choosing a day—it is you, and others around you. People make decisions every day that affect their lives and the lives of others. They save lives and they take them. Today you made the decision to spare Jake's life; he made the decision to take yours. But your brother made another decision. His decision keeps this from being your day."
"How could he possibly…"
"That does not matter at this moment. By making the decision, he has taken it out of your hands."
Sam let that sink in for a moment, a dark suspicion forming in his mind.
"So you don't know when my day will be." It wasn't a question, but Jess treated it like one.
"That will depend on your decision. I will see you again, a year from now, and you will have a choice to make. Only you can make that decision for yourself and your brother."
"My brother—but how can I make life-and-death choices for him?"
"For balance, because he makes that decision for you now." Her voice seemed softer than it had been, quieter.
"What will my choices be?"
"I cannot tell you that now. It will depend on the choices you make in the coming year." Her voice was even quieter, like she was in the distance, though she had not moved. Sam noticed a darkness setting in and for the first time he noticed that he was cold.
"What if I don't want to go back now?"
"You cannot go forward. You would be trapped here."
Sam looked around the woods, the beautiful, peaceful woods. No fear, no pain, no anger or hate or grief. He was tempted, for the first time in his life, to give up. To stay here and hide. And it was oh, so tempting. But, no. He couldn't do that to Dean.
The darkness deepened and the woods faded around them, leaving only Jess, Sam, and the mist.
"Jess? What's happening?" Grief and fear and anger and self-loathing and pain lapped at his consciousness like high tide.
"You're waking up Sam. Wake up, Sam."
He hurt. That was the first thing Sam noticed as he sat up gasping. He hurt.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep But I have promises to keepAnd miles to go before I sleep
And miles to go before I sleep.
--Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
Robert Frost