Chapter 2

Chapter 2: The Burden of New Beginnings

The smell of fresh paint and wood greeted Sam as his eyes fluttered open, and for a split second, everything seemed normal. The world felt...still. Quiet.

Then the memories hit. Not his memories. Someone else's.

He jerked upright in bed, his heart hammering in his chest as the flood of images overwhelmed him. He gripped the blanket, eyes darting around the room, trying to orient himself. His breathing came in short, uneven gasps, and for a moment, he couldn't tell if he was awake or still dreaming.

His hands trembled as he wiped sweat from his brow. "What the hell is going on?" he whispered to himself.

This wasn't his room. He wasn't in his apartment back home, and there sure as hell wasn't any smoke or flames. No fire. No heat. No building collapsing around him. Instead, he was in what looked like a bedroom from some quaint little town—wood floors, freshly painted walls, and soft sunlight streaming in through a half-open window. There was even the smell of…pancakes?

The panic surged again, pulling him out of bed with a sudden burst of energy. He stumbled toward the mirror, nearly tripping over his own feet. His body felt strange—off-balance, like it didn't belong to him. He caught his reflection and froze.

This isn't me.

The man staring back at him looked like Sam Witleck, sure—but he also didn't. His hair was a little longer, his face slightly more angular, and his body felt…leaner. Stronger. He ran a hand over his jawline, blinking in confusion.

I was in a fire. I was dying.

But now? Now he was…here. Wherever here was.

And then the memories hit him again. Mystic Falls. Elena. Jeremy. Grayson.

He grabbed the edge of the sink, gripping it so hard his knuckles turned white. What the hell is happening? He wasn't just Sam Witleck anymore. He was Sam Gilbert, part of a family he'd never known, living in a world he'd only ever seen on TV.

He took a deep breath, trying to push down the rising panic. "Okay. Okay. Let's think this through," he muttered, forcing himself to breathe more steadily. You died. That's the only explanation. This is…

But the thought died in his head. This isn't heaven. It sure as hell isn't hell either. So what was it?

His mind reeled, trying to process the impossible. One moment, he'd been pulling an old man out of a burning building. The next, he was standing in front of a god—a god!—telling him he had a second chance at life. Something about a new world, a random spin of the wheel.

And now…here he was. Mystic Falls. A place that shouldn't exist, but did. And he was a part of it.

A knock on the door snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Sam?" a voice called from the other side. "You okay? Breakfast is ready."

Sam's heart skipped a beat. Grayson. My brother. No—Sam Witleck's brother. The thought felt alien, but the memories that accompanied it were vivid. Grayson had practically raised him after their parents died. They'd spent holidays together, worked on the car in the driveway, talked about life and work. And yet, none of it was real—not for him.

"I'm…yeah, I'm fine," Sam managed to say, though his voice cracked.

There was a pause on the other side, then the sound of footsteps retreating down the hall. Sam exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples. "Get it together, Sam," he muttered under his breath. But no matter how hard he tried, his mind couldn't quiet down.

This was impossible. All of it.

But there was one thing he knew for sure: it was real. The Red Hood system in his mind—the cold, calculating presence that hummed at the edge of his consciousness—was proof of that. It was there, always there, issuing silent commands, offering stats and objectives. He wasn't sure how it worked, but he could feel it pushing him to move, to act, to fight. It was like a part of him now, and ignoring it wasn't an option.

Sam straightened up, shaking off the lingering confusion. He didn't have time to panic. Not now. He needed to figure this out, and standing around gawking at himself in the mirror wasn't going to help.

Downstairs, the smell of pancakes and syrup filled the air, the scent oddly comforting despite the sheer insanity of everything else. Sam took a deep breath, steeling himself as he made his way down the stairs. His heart was pounding in his chest, but he kept moving. One foot in front of the other. Just act normal. Blend in. Maybe he could figure this out before anyone noticed something was off.

When he reached the kitchen, the sight that greeted him was both familiar and surreal. Miranda was at the stove, flipping pancakes with the ease of someone who'd done it a million times. Elena and Jeremy sat at the table, Elena with a book in hand, Jeremy tapping away at some handheld game.

It was a picture of normalcy. Of family. A family that Sam knew—and didn't know.

Miranda glanced up as he entered, smiling warmly. "Morning, Sam. You hungry? I made your favorite."

Sam forced a smile, even as his stomach churned with nerves. "Yeah…thanks," he said, trying to sound casual. But his voice sounded hollow to his own ears.

Miranda didn't seem to notice. "You were quiet last night. Figured you'd want to sleep in, but the kids are already excited to spend time with you."

"Uncle Sam!" Jeremy piped up, practically bouncing in his chair. "You've been gone forever!"

Sam blinked, the boy's enthusiasm hitting him like a truck. The memories in his head told him this was normal—Jeremy had always looked up to him, had always been full of energy. But it still felt…off. Like he was acting in a play, going through the motions of someone else's life.

"I know," Sam replied, his voice softer than he intended. "It's been a while."

Elena looked up from her book, smiling at him. "You're always off doing something cool, though. Bet you've got some good stories."

Stories. Right. That was what they expected, wasn't it? A version of him that had been off traveling, doing God knows what. How was he supposed to explain where he really was? Oh, yeah, I died and got tossed into another world by a god who thinks life is a game. Totally normal.

He sat down at the table, staring at the plate of pancakes in front of him. For a moment, everything was still. Quiet. Maybe I can make this work, he thought. Maybe I can figure out what's happening before anything gets out of hand.

But deep down, he knew that wasn't true. He knew what was coming. The supernatural world he'd been thrown into wasn't just a fantasy anymore—it was real. The vampires, the witches, the werewolves—they were all out there. Waiting.

And sooner or later, they'd come knocking.

Grayson entered the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee as he glanced over at Sam. "You doing alright? You've been kind of quiet this morning."

Sam hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Yeah. Just…a lot on my mind."

Grayson raised an eyebrow but didn't push further. "Well, whenever you're ready, the kids have been dying to spend some time with you. It's been too long."

Sam nodded, forcing another smile. "Yeah. I'm ready."

But even as he said the words, he knew it wasn't true. He wasn't ready for any of this. Not the fake smiles. Not the family he didn't truly know. And definitely not the weight of the Red Hood system whispering in the back of his mind, urging him to prepare for something darker. Something inevitable.

He wasn't ready.

But he didn't have a choice.