Disclaimer: Dean and Sam Winchester belong to Eric Kripke, WB, CW, and all the rightful owners. No copyright infringement is intended.
You don't even dream any more. For a while you thought it was a blessing - and the irony isn't lost on you, not really - It was a relief, you thought, after weeks, months of the same images, replaying in your mind, over and over, every fucking night.
Some details changed: Sam was younger, sometimes, like the gangly young man he had met at Stanford…or older, like the man you knew, even in your dreams, he would never be.
Some things changed, in your dreams: sometimes you've been able to be faster, to be strong enough to move a muscle…
You never stopped Sammy, though. Not even in your dreams. It was a good dream when you mustered enough strength to jump right alongside with him. It was a fucking success when, in your dreams, you were true to your words…and you didn't leave him.
It almost feels like the first few weeks, all over again…you just close your eyes and that's it: no dreams, no memories…no nothing…just lights out, before another day begins.
You know it's not…you are not numb, now. You feel everything: the taste of what you eat, the burning sensation of the booze down your throat every night, the feel of the sheets on your back, the beating of your heart, the warmth of Lisa's skin at night, when she hugs you in her sleep. You feel it all…and you know it's real. It's real because you remember when you realized that.
You remember how it felt, the first few weeks after …after what happened at Stull's cemetery. You believed you were doing ok, all things considered. You were able to function, you were surprised at how calm, controlled you felt. And if the tears didn't come, it wasn't a big deal.
Crying wouldn't bring Sam back…and crying over what, exactly? A body? A soul?
You had neither…it was like Sammy had never existed. Except he did exist..and when you realized that, one night, while you're alone, it crushed you.
You were in the shower, mildly - or maybe very, very drunk; Lisa and Ben were out of town, some family emergency Lisa had explained to you, but you didn't really remember. She didn't trust you with Ben, not yet, and you couldn't blame her.
You were under the shower, it was scorching hot, but you didn't really feel it. You know now, that you didn't even really feel your own body at the time…yet, you stopped, and closed your eyes, tilting your head up, not even flinching when the hot water started hitting your face, when your fingers brushed the antipossession tattoo.
Your fingers traced the lines of the tattoos, slowly, as you remembered Sam drawing the symbol on a piece of paper; you had pretended to watch some old movie, but you had watched Sam drawing, watched his brow furrowing in concentration, his hand holding a pencil, flowing on the paper, creating the symbol, making it perfect, in every detail, because it had to protect you both.
It had been a quiet night, for once, that much you remembered under the shower: no hunts, not omens, no remorses or drunken promises…it had been just the two of you, sharing a room, shooting the shit together, dancing around the ever present elephant in the room: the fact that the way you loved each other wasn't how it was supposed to be.
You were not supposed to feel what you felt…but you both had come to terms with that. You just pretended not to notice and you had both become pros at dancing around something as inevitable and strong as gravity.
And your heart, under the shower felt like it was bleeding…when you remembered how happy you had been: happy to be with Sam, happy to watch him draw, to see the satisfaction in his eyes when the drawing had turned out perfect. You clenched your jaws, when you remembered how much you had loved Sammy, in that precise moment, your remembered that moment with a clarity that made you almost stagger. You had loved him. You still did.
More than that…you had been in love with him.
You felt breathless, under the shower, all of sudden…the air burning in your lungs, and the only sound it came out, bitter, so fucking bitter on you lips was, "Sammy…"
The tears came…right after that, sobs that tore away the numbness, tears that didn't leave you cleansed…because after so many tears you know that it's bullshit: tears are just tears…it's just the way your body has to deal with what the fuck is killing you from the inside.
Eventually the tears have stopped. You just…exist now. You make sure Lisa doesn't freak out on you, you take care of Ben, you have a job, you keep your promise to Sam.
Sam…the son of a bitch made you promise that you would try…and you are.
No dreams, no tears, just the apple pie life you promised you'd didn't warn you how bitter apple pie could be, but you don't mind…you just keep going.
no body, no soul, no nothing…
There are still the moments when you wake up…and for just a few seconds, everything is perfect: it's not numbness, it's not lack of hope, dreams or feelings…it's perfection: you float in a haze made of warmth and comfort, thinking about inane stuff…sure you'll find Sam snoring next to you when you open your eyes and then it hits you: no body, no soul, nothing.
No body to cry and grieve. No soul to pray for - if you still knew how to…if you didn't hate God's guts for choosing your family to fuck with -
Nothing.
The images wake you: a lifetime, seconds, hours, days, months and years…and Sammy is everywhere…and you open your eyes as the image of your brother, of your everything nods at you, scared but brave and determined to do the right thing, just before falling into the cage.
It's okay, Dean.
Your breath catches in your throat, your heart bleeds some more, every single day.
It's gonna be okay…
You blink, every day, your eyes are dry…your body is waking up…your soul is screaming.
Lisa is always next to you, and you smile at her. You try to reassure her.
And in your mind there's just one word and it's the only prayer you know, now. The only it really matters.
Sammy.