Sam Strikes Back (2.1)

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Author's Note - SFSD X Round two - Alternative History.

Prompt - You have been allocated an historical event and an anti-hero. Your entry must portray the events of the designated point in history in a manner different to that which happened in reality and should be told from the point of view of your assigned anti-hero.

My event - The 1885 FA Cup Final, and Sam Winchester

Word limit 10,000 - my entry about 3,500.

Sam Strikes Back

1885—The Oval, Kennington, South London

The crowd roared as the favourites, Blackburn Rovers, trotted out onto the field wearing their team colours—sky blue and white, swinging their arms and kicking the ball lightly from one man to another. The sun shone brightly and the crowd basked in the warmth, anticipating a grand entertainment on this perfect April day.

A polite spattering of applause accompanied the Queen's Park team as they strode onto the field, wearing their distinctive black and white hooped shirts. A cloud covered the sun, causing more than a few of the spectators to shiver and pull their coats tighter. Still it was only April, they said to one another, you really couldn't expect the sun to last.

The first goal from Queen's Park was unexpected but there was plenty of time for Jimmy Brown to work his magic. The crowd roared encouragement as Brown stole the ball from a Queen's Park player and ran down the left hand side of the field, expertly controlling the ball with his feet. They gasped as he headed a perfect shot towards the goal, and sighed in reluctant admiration as the keeper plucked it from the air, an inch before it crossed over the line.

The next goal from a Queen's Park attacker had the crowd silent. By the time they scored the sixth, the crowd was on its feet, shouting and booing. The game ended in a near riot—the first ever seen at an FA Cup final.



The demon had Sam by the throat. Sam's eyes bulged and his feet scrabbled in the dust, searching for purchase. His left hand clawed at the demon's arm, distracting it, while his right hand reached inside his checked shirt, pulled out the silver knife, and thrust it hard into the demon's stomach.

The demon howled in pain and fury, tightening its grip on Sam's throat. Quick as lightning, Sam withdrew the knife and stabbed the demon again, over the heart. It disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Sam's eyes glowed with residual yellow, slowly fading back to his normal grey. He was still pumped from the fight.

"You okay?" Dean stepped off the porch and came to join his brother, who nodded briefly. Drew Wilson, the cabin's owner and their current host, joined them. The three men stared down at the pile of greasy black ash on the ground in front of the cabin.

"Down and out," said Dean, with some satisfaction. The demon must have followed them all the way from the last town they'd passed through, attacking Sam while Dean went to the door to announce their arrival.

"We might have got that one, but we're losing the war, boys." Drew's mouth was pursed in a grim line, his old forehead creased with frown lines. "There's no arguing with the facts. For every demon we send back to Hell, another two take its place."

Drew led the way back inside the cabin and went straight to the kitchen and his interrupted supper. Carrying the now cold plate of beans across to the sink, he gestured to the table. "Might as well sit down and make yourselves comfortable."

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