quirky_thoughts: (written in blood)
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Seems however hard I try I can’t leave Supernatural alone. Especially Sam. I feel I’ve gotten to know the guy inside out!

This fic has been written for a the Multi-Fandom Prompt Fest over at [livejournal.com profile] terror_scifi

I’m not sure I’d be totally happy for this scenario to play out in Season 8 but then again I could see something similar happening.


Title: By Any Mean Necessary
Prompt: Haemophobia, General
Fandom: Supernatural, Sam Winchester
Genre: Fantasy/horror
Rating: PG-ish
Word count: 707
Summary: Set after the Season 7 finale so it’s very spoilery for that.

Sam's determined to find Dean.


Warnings: A bit of knife cutting and blood drinking but nothing major.

Beta'd by [livejournal.com profile] lap_of_the_gods who's always there helping me at the last minute.



Sam stared intently at the cut on his arm. A long deep gash he couldn’t remember acquiring but was probably made as he encountered the one remaining demon Crowley had left behind at Sucrocorp. The demon had put up the usual fight but was no match for a Winchester who’d just seen his brother disappear to God knows where, and had no idea if he were alive or dead. Sam’s mind was in a cold dark place, focusing on one thing only; getting his brother back by any means necessary.

Sam watched transfixed as the drops of blood fell, remembering how he’d felt with demon blood coursing through his veins.

Fuck! He felt both excited and disgusted. All that power, it made his body tingle, and that hadn’t happened in a very long time. The desire that is, not the fear, because he always had that and lived with it every day, like he did with all the other terrifying things in his life.

No. He dreaded the day the urge would surface to tempt him, call to him and then he’d know if he was really strong enough to resist. It was always there, lurking like a shadow in the darkness, an itch that couldn’t easily be scratched or totally healed.

You were strong. You controlled the devil himself. No one else could have done it.

The whispers were no longer content to lurk in the depths of his subconscious, so seizing the opportunity they slipped past reason and sanity and grew into tangible thoughts.

Just do it. Take on all those beasts...the whole of Purgatory...you’ll be invincible.

Sam wrapped the bandage around his arm as he thought of nothing but Dean. Bobby and anyone else who could have helped him were gone. He needed Dean, needed him to be there and he’d no intention of spending the remainder of his life without him. He’d done that before and loathed every single minute of it.

He stumbled into the motel bathroom; his head pounded and throbbed as he splashed cold water on his face. He looked in the mirror and he didn’t like what he saw in his eyes; terror and weakness. Something he was so familiar with but it was usually on other people’s faces, the ones he was rescuing from some hideous monster or thing that went bump in the night.

You have the powers inside you. You survived it before. It’s the right thing to do. Be strong for your brother.

Unlike when Lucifer was in his head, these thoughts felt like an old friend returning. They were comforting and very familiar. He welcomed them back because he needed Dean back, he really did. Whether Dean would ever forgive him if he fell off the wagon and drank demon blood again, he wasn’t sure so those doubts were pushed to the back of his mind.

He glanced over at the demon, sat tied and gagged on a chair in the corner of the room. He’d been so easy to overwhelm, in fact he’d been easy pickings. It was as if Crowley had left him there as bait, left him there for one of his twisted games, and maybe he had. Maybe he knew more than he was letting on. Sam was past caring.

The demon’s eyes grew wider. He began straining at his bindings, mumbling incoherent curses, as Sam walked towards him pulling a long bladed knife from his belt. Sam’s eyes darkened and with no hesitation grasped the demon’s arm and slashed it with the blade.

Sam drank, long and hard on the bloody gash before stumbling back on the floor, tears now spilling down his cheeks. He swiped his hand across his mouth desperate to remove the offending red stain, but there was no going back now. He’d no idea whether this would work or where it was going to take him but he was suddenly filled with a new fear. Was his own blood still tainted enough for him to recover some his old power or had it really been scrubbed clean by his years in the Cage? Was this all going to be a waste of time?

He felt sick now, because what if this didn’t work?






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