Hello, loves!

Alas, all good things must come to an end. A very violent, bloody end for our dear Samantha in this case. Seriously, I feel so bad for the chick. I wish I could have written it some other way, but it was not to be the case.

Thank you all so much for following me on this journey. I am in love with writing fanfiction now; it wasn't nearly as scary as I worried it would be. All of those comments and alerts and favorites and everything warmed my heart so much. Into the Nothing, thank you so much for your continued reviews specifically, they really inspired me to write.

If anyone has a specific moment or episode they would like to see written with our dear, sweet, sassy Samantha, send me a message, and I will get back to you ASAP!

As it stands, I've already gotten the next episode "Wendigo" fleshed out. If I post it, though, I doubt I'm going to name it that. I'll think of something.

Thanks for sticking with me!

Yours,

MD

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any part of Supernatural, this is merely a piece of fanfiction. Credit for the show goes to Eric Kripke and all the beautiful writers involved. Bits from the actual episode and a script for the episode that was discarded are used for accuracy purposes only. Enjoy!

"Roger?" Sam called out into the darkness. "You home?" No response, though this didn't surprise her, really. It was just after four in the morning, her boyfriend was probably asleep. She walked into the dining room and set her bag on the table, along with her set of keys. It felt relieving and disappointing to be home, both for obvious reasons. Relieving to connect with her brother again and finally put her skeletons away for good, but disappointing but her life hadn't been that much since she'd started college. She felt sore, beaten all to Hell, more tired than she could remember being in a long time, and at the end of her ropes. But it felt so satisfying, like coming back from the gym, sweaty and sore.

'Gonna have to go through withdrawals from that kind of excitement…' mused Sam. She slipped out of her boots and tossed her jacket on top of the bag. She trudged down the hall, farther back into the apartment and softly creaked open the door to her bedroom. Her bed was empty and she heard the water running in the bathroom on the other of the room. Well, that was a surprise. Why was Roger up so early? Had he been waiting up for her? That made Sam smile. Adorable.

Sam walked to the foot of the bed and hung her head. Her hand was kind of stinging again and her shoulder was stiff, but she hardly noticed. She was home. Her home. What she chose to be her home. Sam told herself she'd made the right choice, and if Dean didn't see it that way, then tough. He could take his assumptions about Sam and what she had to do and shove them right up his ass. Sam would do what she wanted, on her time.

Sam closed her eyes and flopped back on the bed, her hands behind her head and her feet on the ground. It felt so good to just lie there, not having to worry about Constance trying to suck the life right out of her heart, but Sam felt restless now. She should probably get used to this since it would take a long time for her restlessness to fade away while she adjusted to college again. It had only been two days, but it had felt like an eternity to her. So much had happened.

The water in the shower started to die down and Sam sighed comfortably. Roger would walk out any moment and pester her with questions she was too tired to answer. But he would be unrelenting, and then demand to know where she'd gone, why she hadn't told him outright, why she was all scratched up, what had happened to her –

PLIP.

Something dripped softly onto Sam's forehead. She ignored it. Maybe they had a leaky pipe or she was just imagining things. That was entirely plausible with her mental state right now.

PLIP.

Sam furrowed her brow. Okay, that definitely hadn't been imagined. She opened her heavy eyelids and looked up at the ceiling. It took a couple seconds for her brain to actually process what she saw, but when she did she was screaming in fear before she even felt the urge. Roger was pinned to the ceiling, unnaturally, like he was lying on the floor. His legs and arms were contorted at unnatural angels. His eyes and mouth were open in shock as he stared down at Sam with a dead gaze. There was a blood staining his whole torso from the giant gash in his stomach. Sam felt sick. She watched on in horror as tendrils of blood coiled out from his wound, past his skin and onto the ceiling behind him. The coils writhed and twisted with a mind all their own as they wove together, stringing together three words.

'Coming for you.'

Sam couldn't believe her eyes. All the shit she'd seen in her life, and she absolutely refused to believe her eyes. No, this had to be another nightmare. This couldn't actually be real, this couldn't be happening. She'd had dreams about this, and everyone knew that dreams weren't real. Any second now she'd shoot up in bed, or in Dean's car, sweating and terrified that it was real. But she'd be okay, Roger would be okay… because this was a dream.

"ROGER! NO!" Her shout seemed to ignite some unseen force, and fire burst from Roger's stomach, hissing out of control. It took seconds for the whole ceiling to be enveloped, and just a couple more for the fire to start creeping down her bedroom walls. This couldn't be happening, no, this couldn't be true. Dream, just a dream, she was dreaming. Sam struggled with the urge to puke as the heat started to become unbearable. The skin on her face and arms started tingling with the intensity, but she just couldn't tear her eyes away from Roger's burning corpse. His skin was turning black now, and charring over from the fire. His eyes were still looking at her. Those eyes… those dead unseeing eyes. This time, Sam emptied her stomach over the side of the bed.

Off to her right the door crashed open and Dean stumbled into her room. He took in the fire first, as well as Roger, before looking down to where Sam was on the bed, trying to crawl away from this trauma. She didn't even register his presence. She just kept on yelling out for Roger, in spite of how pointless it was. Dean dashed forward and yanked Sam off the bed by her shirt. She pummeled Dean's chest with her fists, yelling at him to let her go, that she had to go save Roger. Dean didn't lessen his grip in the slightest.

Sam's brother half-wrestled, half-guided his sister to the front door, grabbing the things she'd discarded on the way out. Sam, trying to crawl over Dean's unflinching arm so she could run back to her bedroom and save Roger, gasped as a giant fireball erupted from the room she'd been in only moments before. It writhed down the hallway as it barreled towards the siblings, and when Dean saw it, his action was instantaneous. He shoved her through the door and grabbed her hand, pulling his sister behind him as they dashed down the stairs and out the door to the apartment complex. Sam could have sworn that fireball had laughed at her.

Once they were outside, Dean dropped all of Sam's things and grabbed his cell phone out of his pocket. Still holding onto his sister's hand, he dialed 9-1-1 and called in the fire. He kept throwing anxious looks over to Sam, who stood frozen where they'd stopped outside the apartment complex. Her eyes were glazed and her grip on his hand was unnecessarily hard, like if she didn't hold onto her big brother, she'd be burned away to ashes. Her expression was completely blank, and if it weren't for the tears welling up in her eyes, no one would be able to tell something was wrong with her. Her skin looked pasty and sallow but for a few soot marks on her face, and her bottom lip was trembling ever so slightly. Once Dean hung up he picked up her things he'd dropped on the ground, still holding Sam's hand, and walked across the street and down a ways to the waiting Impala. He threw everything threw on the back bench seat through the open window.

Dean turned around and stared at his sister. Her eyes were glued, unseeing to his chest, but there were tears running down her face now.

"Sam?" Dean prodded softly. No response. Just more tears and more staring. Dean's face grew more concerned. "Samantha?" Her gaze drifted up to meet his at that. Sam blinked.

"Dean?" Sam asked, her voice scratchy but sounding surprised, as if just now noticing his presence. She sniffed, apparently just now realizing she was crying, too. Once she realized that, though, it was like the floodgates opened.

Great, tormented sobs gripped her body as she fell against her brother. She choked and howled, feeling a pain so profound that she wanted to physically shy away from it. Sam felt her brother's arms wrap around her shoulders as he silently held her while she wept. Sam thought of all the times she could have warned Roger, all the times she could have prepared him against everything, and what had she done? Left him defenseless so when that monster came to…

Sam couldn't finish that thought. She just bunched up Dean's clothes tighter in her hands and cried until after she had no more tears left, and all she had to express her pain and sorrow to her brother were the whimpers and cries of the terrified little girl she felt like. She clung to him like a lifeline, tethering herself to someone outside of all this pain she felt. It felt like her heart had been dipped in ice and set on fire at the same time. She felt so hollow and empty, but for the throbbing ache in her chest. Her eyes had long since run out of tears, but that didn't stop her from letting loose her choked sobs and cries. To Dean's credit, he didn't say anything to try and make her stop. He didn't tell her it would be okay, and he didn't tell her that it was all right. They both knew it wasn't okay, and far from all right. He just held her in silence, softly stroking her hair and humming a tuneless song. He'd never had the same talent with words Sam had when it came to emotional issues, so he'd always used touch to express himself. His silent vigil and light but warm embrace told her everything he couldn't say. He was so sorry, he felt guilty for getting her there too later, he was there for her now, he would always protect her. He loved her. That was the biggest thing Dean told her. He loved her more than anyone.

Sam couldn't remember the last time she'd cried against her brother like this. She couldn't remember much of anything past those glazed eyes, and torn skin and curling tendril of blood. God, that fire had been so intense and greedy. She squeezed her eyes shut, and images flashed through her mind. She couldn't tell which of them were memories and which of them were from her dreams. Sam's blood ran cold at that. Her dreams. Oh, Jesus Christ. She'd had dreams about this. Her nightmares had been… real. She should have realized it for what it was, no wonder they'd felt so vivid. She always woke up smelling the burned flesh or feeling the singed flesh. She should have noticed that these nightmares, visions, whatever the hell they were, were trying to tell her that this would actually happen to Roger. Oh God… she'd killed him. She hadn't even meant to and she'd killed him.

A fresh wave of pain pricked her eyes and she started crying all over again, guilt adding to her sorrow this time. Her brother tensed, probably confused by the sudden outburst, but stayed with her all the same. She cried into her brother's chest for her own stupidity, the blood on her hands, the all-consuming sorrow and guilt that pressed into her like dead weight, the oppressive knowledge that she would have to live with this until she died. Sam would have to live with herself when she looked into the mirror now, knowing every time she did that she was staring at the face of someone who had done nothing to stop this. This was all her fault. All her fault. Dear, adorable Roger, and it was her fucking fault.

Eventually, she quieted her second outburst enough that she could pull back and look up at her brother. His green eyes were both worried and grim as they held her gaze. Sam's eyes ran over his barely-there freckles, the stubble he kept to detract from his too-feminine mouth, the bump in his nose he'd gotten when it a ghost had broken it and it hadn't healed quite right. His golden hair that looked more brown than yellow in the night, a small scar her had on his neck from some nameless and long-forgotten Hunt. Sam sighed hopelessly and rested her head against his shoulder, sniffling. She felt so tired. So drained of all energy, and so painstakingly tired. Dean softly pulled her away from him so that he could look down into her eyes.

"Are you hurt anywhere?" Sam flinched. "Physically?" he amended hastily. Sam went over how her body felt for a moment. Nothing really, had changed. Well, her eyes were sore as hell, but that didn't count. Sam shook her head and limply dropped her hands away from Dean, looking down to the ground. He waited a moment before he dropped his arms too. Her shoulders felt colder at the loss of his hands, but she said nothing. Just looked down at her bare feet, trying to find the off switch for her brain.

It was then that a firetruck and ambulance pulled to a screeching halt in front her Sam's complex. A cop car followed soon after. It didn't take long for people to mull out from the complex, some coughing, others just confused. Sam just stood there, staring down at the paved road and Dean's boots. She couldn't bring herself to turn around and look; she felt that if she were to look back, she'd lose it all over again, and she'd had quite enough of crying, thank you. Instead, Sam walked up to the driver's door of her brother's Impala and leaned in. Like she'd thought, the keys were still in the ignition. She pulled them out and walked to the back of the car to open the trunk. Dean watched her silently for a moment, a frown creasing his face, before he slowly walked towards the growing crowd in front of her apartment. Probably going to see if he could pick up any information from the crowd, though honestly, Sam didn't know why. They didn't need any fucking information. They already knew this son of a bitch was supernatural, so what the fuck were they still doing here?

Sam stared down at the weapons and, finally, the rage set in. Her hands began to shake with the force of it, and her breathing grew ragged. Her eyes wandered over all the different knives and guns. So many weapons. So much pain. Nothing would be enough to equal what she felt, but she would fucking try. This motherfuck had ruined her life twice now. It was time for some fucking payback, bitch.

Sam reached out with trembling hands and grabbed a shotgun. She grabbed two rounds from an open box next to where the gun had been lying and loaded them into the gun. She closed it and picked up another. Her mind felt white. White, and hot, and ready to burst. Anger such as this was too heavy for one person to feel, it was pressing Sam into the ground, killing her, but even as it killed her it gave her strength. It gave her ambition. It gave her a fucking purpose. She was on a mission. She had a fucking crusade waiting for her. There was nothing left for her here. That had all been eaten up by the fire. No, her life was on the road now, looking for this sick, twisted… thing so that she could finally get some revenge. All of this firepower, and nothing to use it on. Not yet, anyway, but oh when she found the damn thing. Hell itself would run screaming. She'd make sure of that.

Dean wandered back to where Sam was loading the last shotgun with two more rounds, staring at her face intently. Sam slid the last round into place and looked up in Dean, wordlessly. His mouth pulled down into a frown. He could probably see the change in Sam on her face. Good. Let him see her resolve. If he breathed so much as one word about her needing time or some shit like that, she was going to shoot something.

Sam looked back down at the shotgun and bit back more tears. She'd tried so hard to get away from this, and here she was, loading a weapon like an expert, already relishing in the chase. Sam shook her head and discarded the despair she felt for her situation. She was done with tears. They had done nothing to bring Roger back, and her sorrow didn't feel any less because of them. Just the opposite, actually. Crying forced her to accept that Roger was…. dead. Fat chance of that pretty revelation decreasing her sadness. Dean watched Sam carefully as she snapped the gun shut and threw it onto the pile. Her hands weren't trembling anymore. They were flexing with the need to pound in this dead fuck's face. She didn't care about anything else beyond that. That was the only thing she saw now. After this, well, Sam would deal with that once she got there. But pain… pain was key. Whatever she did to this shit would have to hurt.

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but his sister beat him to the punch. Her voice was cold, and unnatural. It held none of the burning rage or crushing sorrow she harbored inside. It sounded too analytical, detached even. It sounded dead.

"We have work to do." Sam slammed the trunk doors shut and left the keys in the lock for her brother. Without another word Sam walked over to the passenger door and crawled in. Black Water Ridge, Colorado, bound, bitches.

Samantha Winchester, age 22, 5'9", brown hair, and hazel blue eyes. Small but toned build, slender nose, rosy cheeks, more freckles than her brother, straight teeth, full lips, and a broken heart. Resident Hunter and killer of all things evil.

END

And there we have it. It really is over now. Wow... let's just take a moment a savor this, shall we?

Any last bits of love you'd like to leave me are appreciated, as always, and I send you barrels of love in exchange!

Peace.

P.S. I totally changed my mind for who I'm basing Samantha off of, if you want a reference and everything. Instead of Ellen Page I'm thinking that Alexis Bledel would be the better choice. She has a more obvious beauty than Page does, but I think that it's subtle enough that it could work for Sam. Plus, it's easier to believe that Beldel is related to Ackles for me than if my reference choice would be Page. Just FYI, because there will definitely be more "episodes" to come. Thanks so much, everyone!