Disclaimer: Seriously? Me owning Supernatural? Nope. But I am waiting for a call giving me ownership anytime now…
Summary: It would be better to feel something, anything at all, than not to feel, right? Would it make him more human if he could feel something?
A/N: Thanks a bunch to Miles333 for the beta-ing job. :D
Special thanks to fanpire24104 for showing me the wonderful world of Supernatural and Sparkiebunny for the most beloved help.
And this fic couldn't have been born without: Sparkiebunny, deanandhisimpala, fanpire24104, BroodCheery323, and numerous other awesome authors and all their brilliant stories that unknowingly inspired this. :D
Warning: Is dark.
He hates him.
Or he thinks he does. He doesn't feel anything anymore.
He hates him for leaving. Even after they promised, swore on their mother's grave that whatever was to happen, in end they would still have each other, he still has to face this crazy world without him, alone.
He's sure it hurts. But, he just can't feel anything anymore. And that kills him.
Everything's just so numb. He would rather take the pain, or the hurt, or even anger over this feeling of emptiness inside. It would be better to feel something, anything at all, than not to feel, right? Would it make him more human if he could feel something?
He prays to the God he isn't sure he can trust anymore, prays that he'll wake up and feel something.
Because he's scared of this. Not feeling anything. Just this crippling numbness.
And being around people...it doesn't help. Nothing helps. Nothing can ever help except for Sammy being with him again but he knows it isn't ever going to happen.
He's good at pretending and faking now. It's like a second nature to him. He's like an actor, and he's got the lines and the emotions memorized down to a pact and the rest of the world is the stage and he knows they're waiting to see what he does next, watching every movement.
He pretends he cares, he fakes a smile…a laugh at all the right times (he's timed it just so). Pretends that he feels something. Fakes the fact he's okay. And he's not. Not really. Not since Sam. And he's sure nobody knows. A fact he's glad for.
He pretends he doesn't wake up in the middle of the night, tears streaming down his face, reaching for the brother he can't find.
Nothing helps.
The alcohol, the pills, nothing. He can't feel anything and it doesn't help coping without Sam, just makes it worse because he wants to feel something, anything, because that's what Sam would want for him.
At times, he's so close to giving up, so close to the edge, but then memories of Sammy come back and he takes a step back, because he knows his brother would never forgive him if he just gave up.
It's hard to get out of bed in the mornings, because he knows he has to face another day without the person he thought he would have forever.
But he's tired.
Tired of trying to live a normal life. Because Sam's gone and what's the point of normal if he didn't have his best friend and brother at his side?
Yet Sammy wanted him to have a normal life and if he needs to do anything at all, that's one thing he can. Try.
But he's just so tired of wearing this stupid façade, everything's just fine, all the time and he still can't feel anything but numbness.
He's at the hospital, getting more sleeping pills, when he sees something that should have made him feel something.
A girl getting news of her sister's death.
He doesn't feel a thing.
Not a single thing.
And he just doesn't care.
He realizes then that he's living in a bubble, big and solid.
Not a big plastic bubble, a more delicate type that's wrapped around him like Sam used to do when they were kids, invisible to the naked eye.
The bubble protects him from the outside. From the emotional pain that comes with everyday life. Because he can't take it anymore and he's not sure he'll ever be able to take it again.
The bubble, he guesses, is his own unique form of protection. The only protection he has now.
The only problem about his bubble is that it stops his normal reactions.
He has to guess now. Guess how he should react, how to talk, what feeling to fake this time around and it's getting harder and harder to do.
He just wants to give up but Sam's memory draws him back.
He swears he's a breathing corpse, wearing a stupid mask to hide its feelings.
And no one cares.
While some part of him still yearns to feel the simplest thing, he now knows that not being able to feel is the best thing.
Because feeling means pain, and he's not so sure he can take it anymore.
Thanks again to C. who with her words of encouragement, I couldn't have done without.
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