Chapter Text
Clotho slowly set the thread down on the table and studied the boy for a few seconds. She didn't seem surprised by his rage or his tears; it was as if she'd been waiting for exactly this moment since the instant Sam had first crossed the threshold of that place.
Finally, she spoke, with a serenity that contrasted sharply with the boy's desperation.
"You still don't understand, do you?"
Sam stayed quiet for a few seconds, trying to find some sense in those words. He still felt the rage that had brought him there, but underneath it something deeper was starting to surface: a confusion that felt even bigger than before. He'd spent so long trying to understand why he could see other people's deaths that he'd ended up convinced his power simply showed him future events. If he saw someone was going to die, he'd thought, then it was his responsibility to stop it. What other purpose could a gift like that have? And yet Jay had died even though Sam had known his fate, and that contradiction felt unbearable.
"I don't understand," he finally admitted. "If I can see someone's going to die, what am I supposed to do with that? I tried to save Jay. I did everything I could and he still died. Before him I watched other people die too and couldn't do anything. So what am I actually seeing?"
Clotho let out a calm sigh and glanced toward the other two Fates. For a moment she seemed to be debating with herself, as if this wasn't a conversation they usually had with mortals.
Finally she turned back to them.
"I need to speak with him alone."
Lachesis stopped moving the thread between her fingers and watched Sam with a serene expression, while Atropos stayed still beside her scissors. Neither questioned Clotho's decision. The youngest woman stood and held out a hand to Sam.
"Come with me."
Sam hesitated, but ended up following her. They walked slowly away from the table where the other two women worked, down a path lined with low trees and white flowers that seemed to belong to no season he knew. As they went, the murmur of the fountains grew more distant until it was replaced by the soft sound of water running over stones. They finally reached a circular fountain sitting in the shade of a wide-branched tree. Clotho sat on the stone edge and gestured to the space beside her.
Sam sat down next to her.
For a moment neither spoke. The boy looked at the water, where the sky's reflection shifted with every small current, and had the strange feeling that this place wasn't meant to measure time the way the world of the living did.
"Jay's death was inevitable," Clotho said finally.
Sam closed his eyes.
"You already told me that."
"Not exactly. I told you that the deaths of the people you see will come sooner or later. What you need to understand is that this doesn't mean every death you witness will happen exactly the way you saw it. Some can change. Others can't. And in some cases, what you interpret as a chance to alter fate is simply part of the path that leads that person to their end."
Sam looked back at her.
"So Jay had to die?"
"Yes."
The answer was so simple that it took Sam a few seconds to absorb it.
"Since when?"
Clotho studied the water before answering.
"For many years. Jay was supposed to die when he was just a child. His parents were killed by a wendigo, and he was meant to die alongside them that night."
Sam remembered the story Jay had told when he arrived at the house, the way John had mentioned knowing the boy since he was fifteen. He hadn't thought much about that detail until now.
"But he survived."
"Because death chose to let him live."
Sam's brow furrowed.
"Death can do that?"
"Death isn't simply a force that shows up when someone stops breathing. It also watches, waits, and sometimes allows a life to continue past the point it was meant to end. Jay received those years as a second chance, though he never knew he'd received it. During that time he became a hunter, learned to fight the creatures that had destroyed his family, and ended up saving many people's lives. Some of them would have died if Jay hadn't been there to help them. Do you think those years were pointless just because the moment to die finally came?"
Sam looked down.
"No."
"That's what you still don't understand. A person's life doesn't lose its value just because it ends. Jay had time he wasn't meant to have, and he used that time to do important things. His death doesn't erase what he did while he was alive."
Sam stayed quiet, but those words didn't ease the pressure he felt in his chest. He thought about Jay, smiling weakly while telling him he couldn't let an innocent person die, the way he'd tried to reassure him even while knowing he was dying, and understood that maybe Clotho was right. Still, understanding it didn't make it hurt any less.
"What about Megan?" he asked afterward. "Was she destined to die too?"
Clotho shook her head.
"Megan didn't die because her fate was to die that night. What you saw was the consequence of something that had already happened. The vampires fed her their own blood. Once that happened, her fate changed. She only needed to drink human blood to complete the transformation."
Sam remembered Megan's expression when she appeared in the kitchen, the tears still in her eyes, the way she'd tried to tell him to stay away. For an instant she'd looked like a terrified girl fighting against something she didn't understand.
"So when we saved her..."
"You saved her from the vampires, but you couldn't undo what had already changed inside her."
Sam pressed his hands against his knees.
"What about Alice?"
Clotho didn't answer right away.
Sam felt his heart start pounding harder.
"What about Alice?" he pressed. "Is she going to die too?"
Clotho looked at him directly.
"You still care about your friend?"
Sam didn't answer.
"You didn't want to open the letter she sent you," Clotho continued. "You got it and decided to put it away because you were afraid of finding out she was still angry with you. Have you really stopped caring about her?"
Sam looked down at the water.
"No."
The word came out so quietly it almost got lost in the sound of the fountain.
"Then you already know the answer."
Sam looked up again.
"Is she going to die?"
Clotho nodded.
"Sooner or later, death will reach Alice."
Sam felt the air leave his lungs. He'd heard that idea before, in different forms, but he'd never felt it could hit so hard with someone still a part of his life. He thought of Alice laughing with Freddy, of the afternoons they'd spent together before everything got complicated, of that moment he'd tried to save her from Greg and ended up destroying the friendship they had. Then he remembered the letter he still hadn't opened and felt a lump rise in his throat.
"When?"
"That I can't tell you."
"Tomorrow? A year from now?"
"I don't know."
"Then I can save her."
Clotho shook her head slowly.
"You can extend her life. You can change circumstances, avoid certain dangers, give her time she might not otherwise have had. But someday the moment will come when her thread has to end."
Sam felt the fear turn into desperation.
"What about Dean?"
Clotho stayed silent a few seconds longer than usual.
"Is Dean going to die too?"
"Your brother's case is more complicated."
"What does that mean?"
Clotho looked at Sam with an expression he couldn't read.
"Dean is destined to flee death again and again. His fate, like yours, has already been decided by someone greater than me and my sisters. Someone more powerful than death itself."
Sam's brow furrowed.
"I don't understand."
"You will, in time. Someday your brother's fate will come due. You'll be able to look him in the eyes and tell him he can go in peace."
"I could never do something like that. I can't live without my brother."
"That's many years away. There are things that can't be explained before they happen. If I told you exactly what it means, you'd probably spend the rest of your life trying to prevent it, and end up never understanding what you're meant to learn."
Sam shook his head.
"I don't understand anything you're telling me."
"I know."
"Then why did you show me all of this?"
Clotho smiled sadly.
"Because you needed to know you aren't seeing death the way you thought you were."
Sam sat beside her, trying to put everything he'd just heard in order. Jay's death had been inevitable, but the years he'd lived after his parents' death had had a purpose. Megan could have been saved from the vampires, but the transformation she'd already undergone had changed her fate. Alice would die someday, and as for Dean, there was something even Clotho didn't seem willing to explain yet. None of it gave him the answers he'd been looking for; if anything, it seemed to have opened up even more questions.
"I don't want this," he finally said.
Clotho looked back at him.
"What?"
"The powers. I don't want to watch people die. I don't want to know when they're going to die. I don't want to feel like every time I touch someone, I have to wonder if I'm going to see their death. I don't want to live afraid to get close to the people I love."
His voice started to break.
"I want to be normal."
Clotho watched him with a patience that seemed to have no limit.
"You want them gone?"
Sam nodded.
"Yes. Can you take them away?"
Clotho shook her head again.
"Only death can take them from you."
Sam stared at her.
"How do I talk to Death?"
"You have to die."
Sam's eyes went wide.
"What?"
"To speak with Death, you have to cross the line again, the one you crossed that night on the bridge."
"Don't joke about that."
Clotho held his gaze.
"I'm not joking."
Sam shot to his feet.
"You're telling me I have to die to be able to talk to Death?"
"I'm telling you that's the only path I know of."
"That's insane."
"For a mortal, it probably is."
Sam started pacing back and forth by the fountain, trying to think of some alternative. The idea of deliberately dying struck him as absurd and terrifying, but part of him clung desperately to the possibility of becoming who he'd been before the accident again.
"I don't want to see this anymore."
Clotho stood.
"Then you'll have to decide how much you're willing to risk to get back the life you had before."
Sam looked at her.
"Does that mean I can do it?"
"It means you have to find your own way."
Before he could ask another question, the garden began to blur. The light wrapping the columns grew more intense and the sound of the water seemed to drift farther away.
"Wait."
Clotho looked at him.
"You have to go back."
Sam felt the fear return.
"Will I see you again?"
"If your thread crosses ours again."
"Thank you."
Clotho tilted her head slightly.
"For what?"
"For listening to me. And for explaining all of this."
For an instant, Clotho's expression softened.
"You still have much to learn, Samuel Winchester."
The garden vanished.
◆═════════●★●═════════◆
Sam opened his eyes and it took him a few seconds to recognize the ceiling above him. Morning light came through the curtains, drawing pale stripes across the walls of the room. His body felt heavy and his throat dry, but there was something else that caught his attention right away: he was lying in the bed he shared with Dean, and someone was sitting near him.
"Sam?"
Dean's voice pulled him fully back to the present.
Sam slowly turned his head and found his brother sitting on the other bed, leaning toward him with a worried expression that didn't fade until he confirmed Sam was awake.
"How are you feeling?"
Sam blinked several times.
"What happened?"
"You passed out."
Dean stood and came over to the bed.
"After Jay died, you went unconscious in my arms. I thought about taking you to the hospital, but Dad said it was probably better to let you rest here while we kept an eye on you."
Sam tried to sit up and raised a hand to his neck. He felt a small discomfort on the skin and found a bandage covering the wound.
"This?"
"Megan bit you. The wound's not deep, and I already cleaned it. Doesn't look serious."
Sam touched the bandage carefully again.
"Where are Dad and Bobby?"
"They left a while ago."
"Where to?"
"The woods. They went to burn Jay's and Megan's bodies."
Sam looked down.
The news of Jay's death came rushing back with full force, immediately followed by Clotho's words. He didn't have time to process them, because another need overrode all of it.
"Dean, I have to tell you something."
Dean sat on the edge of the bed.
"What's going on?"
Sam looked at him seriously.
"But you have to promise you won't tell anyone."
Dean's brow furrowed.
"Not even Bobby?"
"No one."
Dean took a few seconds to answer, but finally nodded.
"Okay. It'll be our secret."
Sam took a deep breath before starting.
He told him everything. He told him about the garden, the three women, their names, and what they'd explained about the night on the bridge. He told him the Fates believed the wound left on his soul after crossing the line between life and death was the reason he could see the threads of those approaching the end of their lives. He told him about Jay, about Alice, and about the strange warning regarding Dean, trying to remember every word Clotho had said. When he got to the part where Clotho had told him only Death could take away his power, Sam hesitated, but finally confessed what he'd heard after that too.
Dean stayed silent through the whole explanation.
"And you're saying she told you that to talk to Death, you have to die?" he finally asked.
Sam nodded.
Dean ran a hand over his face.
"Sam, I don't even know what to say."
"Believe me."
Dean looked at him.
"I believe you."
Sam seemed caught off guard.
"Really?"
"After everything we've seen, it'd be pretty hypocritical of me to tell you I didn't."
Sam looked down.
"Then I have to find a way to talk to Death."
Dean sat up immediately.
"No."
"Dean..."
"No."
"I need him to take this away from me."
Dean shook his head.
"Hell no! You are not going to try to kill yourself just to talk to Death!"
"I didn't say I was going to kill myself."
"Don't even think about it."
"Dean..."
"No, Sammy. I'm telling you I'm serious. After everything that's happened, I am not going to sit here while you try to find some way to die just because a lady in some weird garden told you it's the only way to get answers."
Sam stayed quiet.
Dean leaned toward him.
"If you want to find Death, we'll find another way. We'll research it, we'll talk to Bobby, we'll dig through the journals, we'll ask other hunters. But you are not going to put yourself in danger on purpose."
Sam didn't answer, though he already knew that at some point he'd have to decide what to do with that information.
◆═════════●★●═════════◆
The next two days passed slowly.
Sam stayed shut in his room almost the whole time. He didn't want to go down for breakfast with John, Dean, and Bobby, and even less did he want to risk accidentally touching someone. The idea that a simple touch could show him another death had become something that frightened him even before he reached out a hand. He'd started keeping his distance from everyone, avoiding hugs, handshakes, and any situation where someone might brush against him without meaning to. He spent hours lying down staring at the ceiling, or sitting by the window, asking himself if there was any way to get back the life he'd had before the bridge, and above all, whether he'd really be able to give up the visions even if it meant ignoring people he could still help.
Dean tried not to push him, but he didn't leave him completely alone either. He brought him food, sat with him for a few minutes, and tried to talk about anything unrelated to death. Sam almost never felt like answering. Even when Dean managed to get some conversation out of him, his mind kept drifting back to the garden and the sentence from Clotho he couldn't shake: death would reach Alice sooner or later.
On the third day, Dean opened the bedroom door and found his brother sitting on the bed with a closed book on his lap. Sam looked up, expecting Dean to ask him again to come down and eat, but his expression was different.
"Your friend Freddy called."
Sam felt a small pang in his chest.
"Freddy?"
"Yeah. He wants to talk to you."
Sam shook his head.
"I don't want to talk to anyone."
Dean stayed leaning in the doorway.
"You should talk to him."
"I don't have anything to say to him."
"Sam, he sounded sad."
That made Sam look up.
"What did he say?"
"Not much. Just asked about you and said he needed to talk to you. I think you should go down."
Sam sat still for a few seconds. Finally he set the book on the bed and got up. He went down the stairs slowly, with Dean following a few steps behind. The phone sat on a small table by the kitchen, the receiver still in place, waiting for the call that had come in a few minutes earlier.
Sam picked it up.
"Freddy?"
For a moment he only heard breathing on the other end.
"Sam..."
Freddy's voice was broken.
Sam's brow furrowed.
"What's wrong?"
"I'm sorry for calling you after so long."
"Freddy..."
"I shouldn't have pulled away from you. I know I shouldn't have. Alice didn't want us to either..."
His voice cracked, and Sam felt something inside him start to tighten.
"What happened?"
Freddy started crying.
"Alice died this morning."
Sam stopped breathing for an instant.
The world seemed to stop around him. He could hear the silence of the house, the distant hum of some appliance, and Dean's breathing behind him, but none of those sounds seemed to actually belong to the same place he was standing in. All he could do was grip the phone, staring blankly at some spot on the wall.
"What?"
"Alice died this morning."
Sam closed his eyes.
"What happened to her?"
Freddy took a few seconds to answer.
"She got sick a few days ago. We all thought it was just some infection. She had a fever, a headache, she was really tired, but then it got worse. They took her to the hospital and found out it was meningitis. They tried to treat her, but..."
Freddy couldn't finish the sentence.
Sam felt his legs starting to lose their strength.
"Was she in the hospital?"
"Yeah. A few days."
"And she died there?"
"Yeah."
Sam slowly looked down.
"I'm so sorry."
Freddy started crying again.
"Forgive me, Sam. I was a bad friend. After everything that happened with Greg, I pulled away from you and left you on your own. I should've listened to you. I should've been there for you."
Sam closed his eyes.
"I don't hold it against you."
"But..."
"Really, Freddy. I don't blame you for any of this."
"Alice loved you a lot."
Those words made Sam grip the phone tighter.
"I loved her too."
"I'm sorry," Freddy said again.
"Me too. I'm so sorry about her."
They stayed quiet for a few seconds before saying goodbye. Sam set the phone back in its place and stood frozen, unable to understand how this could have happened. The conversation with Clotho came rushing back into his mind with a terrifying clarity.
"Sam, what's wrong?"
Dean's voice came from behind him.
Sam turned and looked at him. He didn't answer. He just started climbing the stairs as fast as he could.
"Sam!"
Dean followed him.
Sam went into the room and shut the door behind him. Dean tried to open it, but found his brother had locked it.
"Sam, open up!"
No answer came.
Sam walked straight to the small dresser where he'd kept Alice's letter. He'd gotten it days earlier and hadn't been able to open it, afraid of discovering Alice was still mad at him. Now he understood he'd been running from something he should have read long before.
He found the envelope among his things and held it for several seconds.
His name was written on the front.
Sam sat down on the bed, carefully opened the envelope, and began to read.
Dear Sam,
I don't really know how to start this letter, and I guess that's why I've spent several days writing it and putting it away again. There's so much I want to tell you, but none of it feels like enough.
First I want to say I'm sorry. I know that after what happened with Greg, I made you feel like it was all your fault. I was angry, scared, and confused, and I didn't want to hear your explanations. Now I understand you never meant to hurt me. You were trying to protect me, even if I couldn't see it that way at the time.
I also want you to know I never stopped thinking of you as my friend. Even when we stopped talking, I thought about you and Freddy a lot. I missed our conversations, our jokes, even the dumb stuff we used to do after school. I guess I was too proud to say so.
I've had a lot of time to think lately, and I realized I don't want to keep being angry with you. I don't want the last thing you remember about me to be a fight or all the awful things we said to each other. I'd rather you remember when we were friends and everything felt so much simpler.
I love you, Sam. I don't know what's going to happen after this, but I needed to say it at least once. I hope someday you can forgive me, and that when you think of me, you can do it with a smile instead of sadness.
Take care of yourself and of Freddy. And please, don't ever think again that you didn't do enough for me. I know you tried.
I love you so much, Sam.
Alice
Sam reached the last line and the tears started falling onto the paper. For a few seconds he tried to hold them back, but he couldn't anymore. He brought a hand to his face as the pain he'd kept locked away these last few days finally tore through the walls he'd built around himself.
"Sam, open the door!"
Dean was still outside.
Sam didn't answer.
"Sammy, please!"
Dean tried the door again, and finding it locked, used enough force to make it give way. He came in quickly and found his brother sitting on the bed, the letter in his hands, his face streaked with tears.
"Sam..."
Sam looked up.
Seeing Dean, he couldn't hold back anymore. He got up and crossed the room to reach him, clinging to his brother with such force that Dean had to step back to keep his balance. Sam buried his face against his chest and began to cry inconsolably.
Dean wrapped both arms around him and held him without trying to pull away or telling him to calm down. He understood there were no words that could make what Sam was feeling disappear.
"Alice died, Dean."
"I'm sorry, Sammy," Dean murmured, stroking his hair slowly. "I'm so, so sorry."
Sam tightened his arms around him.
"I couldn't save her."
Dean closed his eyes.
"You didn't have to save her."
"I knew she was going to die."
"I know."
"And I didn't do anything."
Dean pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes.
"You didn't know when it was going to happen. You didn't know how. And even if you'd known everything, you can't carry the life of every single person who shows up in your visions. You're not responsible for Alice's death."
Sam shook his head as the tears kept falling.
"Clotho told me she was going to die someday."
Dean hugged him again.
"Then now we know those women weren't talking about something you could stop forever. But that doesn't mean everything you see has to turn into a sentence you have to carry alone."
Sam stayed against his brother's chest, holding onto him as he cried for Alice, for Jay, for everyone he'd watched die, and for the life he'd lost since that night on the bridge. Dean didn't try to stop the crying or find some explanation that could fix it. He just stayed there, holding him, because at that moment it was the only thing he could do for his brother.
◆═════════●★●═════════◆
Alice's funeral was held two days later, in a small church in Sioux Falls where the gray morning light came through the stained glass and spread across the wooden pews in faded patches of color.
Sam sat beside Dean through almost the whole ceremony, his hands clasped over his knees, his eyes fixed on the casket resting in front of the altar. He'd tried to brace himself for this moment, but none of the words Dean had said to him over the last few days had made it any less painful. Seeing Alice's name on the small card beside the flowers had made everything real in a way a phone call never could.
Dean stayed beside him without talking much. He'd understood his brother didn't need explanations or advice, and that any attempt to convince him he shouldn't feel guilty would only run into a guilt Sam still didn't know how to handle. John had come too, though he'd chosen to stay a few steps behind, letting his sons share a pew together. Bobby stood near the entrance, wearing a dark shirt and a jacket he rarely wore outside of important occasions. Through the ceremony, Sam barely registered the priest's words. He thought about Alice the way he remembered her, long before Greg had entered their lives and before his visions had started turning every friendship into a threat. He remembered their conversations, the afternoons with Freddy, the times she'd laughed at something he'd said.
When the ceremony ended, the attendees slowly began filing out of the church. Some people approached Alice's family to offer their condolences, while others stayed a few minutes by the casket before leaving. Sam remained seated until Dean gently touched his shoulder.
"You want to go?"
Sam shook his head.
"I want to say goodbye."
Dean nodded and stood up with him.
A few yards away, Freddy stood with his family. His eyes were red, his face exhausted, as if he'd spent the last few days barely sleeping. When he saw Sam, he seemed to hesitate for a few seconds before coming over. Sam didn't know exactly what to say to him either. After everything that had happened between them, after weeks of silence and guilt they'd each carried alone, any conversation felt too small in the face of Alice's absence.
When they stood face to face, Sam spoke first.
"I'm so sorry."
Freddy tried to answer, but his voice broke. Sam opened his arms and Freddy came to him, hugging him tightly. For several seconds neither said anything. Freddy ended up crying against Sam's shoulder, and Sam held him while feeling his own eyes fill with tears again.
"Forgive me," Freddy murmured between sobs. "I should've been there for you. I should've listened to you."
"You don't have to apologize to me."
"I pulled away from you."
"I know, but I don't blame you."
Freddy lifted his head slightly.
"She loved you."
Sam swallowed.
"I loved her too."
"I know."
They stayed embraced a moment longer before pulling apart. Sam looked one last time toward where the casket stood, then followed Dean toward the exit. Outside, the rain kept falling softly, and as he walked toward the car, he had the feeling he was leaving behind a part of his life he'd never get back.
◆═════════●★●═════════◆
The drive back to Bobby's house passed almost in silence. Dean drove while John sat up front and Sam watched the wet streets of Sioux Falls through the window. No one tried to talk about the funeral. There was no need to. When they arrived, Bobby was making coffee in the kitchen, and the house had the quiet look of any ordinary afternoon, as if the outside world hadn't just changed for any of them.
Sam waited until they were inside to approach Dean.
"Can I ask you something?"
Dean set his keys on the table.
"Sure."
Sam held out a hand.
"Take it."
Dean understood right away what he wanted to check. Without asking anything, he took his brother's hand and laced their fingers together. Sam closed his eyes and waited. For a few seconds he stayed focused on the feel of Dean's hand in his, waiting for some image, some flash of the thing he'd learned to fear since the accident. But he saw nothing.
Sam opened his eyes.
Dean smiled slightly.
"See? Told you not to worry about me."
"That doesn't mean it's not going to happen."
"Of course it's not gonna happen."
"You can't know that."
Dean let out a small laugh.
"Sam, I'm too stubborn to die."
Sam didn't smile.
Dean squeezed his hand gently.
"Seriously, Sammy. I'm fine."
Sam nodded, though the answer hadn't managed to calm him.
"I need to rest."
"Okay."
Sam went up the stairs and disappeared down the hallway. Dean watched him until he was out of sight, then went back to the kitchen. John had already sat down next to Bobby, and the three of them stayed around the table with a cup of coffee in front of each.
Upstairs, Sam closed his bedroom door and leaned against it for a few seconds. Then he walked to the bed and sat down. The silence of the room let him think clearly for the first time since the funeral, and that wasn't necessarily a relief. Clotho's words came back to him one by one, especially that explanation about Alice. She'd managed to escape death for a while, but fate had waited. Sam had tried to protect her from Greg and had managed to stop one specific death, but he hadn't been able to stop death from finding another way.
And now there was Dean.
Sam knew his brother could die too. Maybe not right away, maybe not the way he'd seen during the wendigo hunt, but Clotho's words had been clear: Dean wasn't immortal. Someday he'd have to face death, even if the Fate had said it was still years off. Sam couldn't accept that possibility. Not after everything that had happened.
The idea appeared slowly in his mind, and once it was there, it proved impossible to ignore. Clotho had said only Death could take his powers away. If there was a way to close that wound, Sam had to find it.
There was only one way to find out.
Sam opened the nightstand drawer and found the bottle of sleeping pills prescribed to him after leaving the hospital. He held it for a few seconds, looking at the label. He knew it could be dangerous, and that Dean would be furious if he found out what he was doing, but in his mind the idea wasn't to die. He didn't want to end his life. He wanted to get close enough to death to talk to it, trusting that his family would find him before it was too late.
He opened the bottle and let the pills fall into his palm. He stayed still for a few seconds, aware of how serious what he was about to do was, but also convinced he couldn't keep living with those visions. Finally he took them, washing them down with water. Then he set the glass on the table, lay down, and closed his eyes.
He didn't know how much time passed.
At first he only heard the silence of the room. Then he started feeling his body grow heavy, as if he were sinking slowly into the mattress. The sounds of the house drifted further away until they vanished completely. Sam tried to open his eyes, but before he managed to, he heard a voice beside him.
"Boy, you really are stubborn."
Sam opened his eyes.
The first thing he saw was his own body.
It lay on the bed, motionless, eyes closed, breathing barely perceptible. Sam watched it from a few steps away, unable to understand how he could be there and, at the same time, be watching himself. He looked down at his hands and found they were still his own, though they looked paler and more translucent than usual.
Then he looked up.
A woman stood by the window.
She had short black hair and dressed simply, completely different from the Fates. Her face looked young, though there was something in her eyes that made it impossible to pin down any particular age. She watched him with a mix of patience and disapproval.
"Are you Death?" Sam asked.
The woman shook her head.
"I'm a reaper."
"Are you the shadow I've been seeing this whole time?"
"That's right."
"Then why did you never answer me when I talked to you?"
"I was busy doing my job, kid. I can't stop to chat with you."
Sam looked back at his body.
"I need to talk to Death. The Fates told me only Death can take my powers away."
Before she could answer, a pounding shook the bedroom door.
"Sam!"
It was Dean.
"Sam, open the door!"
Sam felt a pang of guilt.
"Please. I need to talk to Death."
"And you will, but not here."
The reaper held out a hand to him.
"Come. There's a quieter place."
Sam glanced at the door.
"Where are we going?"
"Somewhere no one can interrupt us."
Sam took her hand.
The bedroom vanished.
Cold air hit his face instantly, and Sam recognized the place before he even looked around. They stood on the old railroad bridge where everything had begun. The river ran below them, dark and silent, while trees stretched out on both sides of the water. Sam felt a chill remembering the rotted wood under his feet, the moment he'd heard that voice calling him, the instant he'd fallen into the river.
The reaper stayed beside him.
"Why here?"
"Because this is where you first crossed the line between life and death."
Sam looked at the river.
"So I can talk to Death?"
"Of course, Samuel." A man's voice cut in.
Sam turned.
An elderly man walked slowly toward them. He wore an elegant dark suit, perfectly tailored to his frame, and carried a cane in one hand. He walked at an unhurried pace, showing no urgency, as if time held no meaning for him at all.
The reaper bowed her head slightly as the old man approached.
"Samuel Winchester. We finally meet."
Sam studied him closely.
"Who are you?"
The old man smiled.
"I'm Death."
Sam felt his heart race.
"Really?"
"Yes."
Sam took a step toward him.
"The Fates told me that night, when I had the accident on this bridge, you decided I wasn't meant to die, and that bringing me back left a wound on my soul that gives me these visions. Is that true?"
"That's right, my boy," Death said, in a soft voice. "The Fates can do what they want with mortals' fate, but the final word is mine. And you weren't meant to die that night."
"What about Dean? Is he going to die soon too, like what happened to Alice?"
"Don't worry, it won't be soon like what happened to your friend."
Sam let out a relieved breath.
"Then you can take the powers away, heal the wound on my soul."
"Indeed. I can do that."
Sam took a deep breath.
"Please, do it."
Death studied him for a few seconds.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. These visions are useless to me if I can't stop anyone's death."
Death nodded slowly.
"It was never my intention for you to have these visions. That wound on your soul wasn't planned, so I have no trouble healing it. If anything, it'll stop complicating my reaper's work. But it will have side effects for you."
"What's going to happen to me?"
"You'll lose the power, but you'll also lose the memory of ever having had it."
Sam went still.
"All of it?"
"All of it. You won't remember the Fates. You won't remember the reapers. You won't remember the visions you had, and you won't know you were ever able to see other people's deaths. For you, that power will never have existed. You won't even remember this conversation."
Sam looked down.
"Will I remember Alice?"
Death nodded.
"You'll remember Alice. You'll remember Jay. You'll remember everyone who's part of your life. You'll only forget that you ever saw their deaths before they happened."
Sam closed his eyes.
He hated the idea of losing part of his life. He hated losing the memory of meeting the Fates and Death, because it was an experience not just any mortal got to have. But on the other hand, his own peace of mind mattered more.
"I agree," Sam finally said.
Death approached slowly.
The reaper stayed a few steps behind him as the old man raised a hand and placed it on Sam's head. The touch was gentle, almost comforting, and for the first few seconds Sam felt nothing. Then a warm sensation began spreading out from where the hand touched him, moving slowly through his whole body, through his arms, his chest, his legs, until it reached that part of him he didn't know how to name.
Sam felt something come loose inside him.
It didn't hurt. If anything, there was a strange sense of relief in that loss, as if for years he'd been carrying a weight he could finally set down. The images began disappearing one after another: Rachel's face, the inside of the ambulance, the forest, the wendigo, Jay, the Fates, the threads he'd seen around people, and all those scenes that had turned death into a constant presence in his life.
The light grew more and more intense.
Sam tried to breathe, but he was no longer sure he had a body.
Then everything went black.