Problems Unshared

by cutie-pie-rockchic

Disclaimer: Nope. Not mine. Just borrowed cough them from Kripke for now...

Authors Note: I've already written this, so it shoud be updates daily, maybe more, internet depending. Anyways hope you enjoy...

Sam walked along the corridor, the cup of coffee in his hand stinging his fingers. He knew what was coming next, it had played out this way for a long time now, and the familiar knot of fear twisted in his stomach. It reached up through his body making it hard to swallow, and the taste of bile crept into his mouth. His body on autopilot paid little attention to his brain, where his every instinct was screaming at him to run and never look back. And so he walked past the door again, his head doing a small double take, before his fingers went numb, and the coffee was sent crashing to the floor. Everything slowed down, as he ran to his fathers' lifeless and cold body, and eyes that usually held compassion or anger, bored into Sam's own, accusing him of everything he had done wrong.

Too little…too late.

All the fights, all the hurt and angry words, and all the things left unsaid came back in a rush of images and sounds, and Sam's senses overloaded, an internal strand of his heart breaking, so slowly and painfully it was hard to breathe. He had to make it right. He needed to make up for what was lost between him and his father. He needed to erase his mistakes, and know that John was proud of him. He wanted to prove his worth. He just needed more time.

The scene before him changed in a flask of white, and this time he was standing next to a door, watching as Dean was defibrillated, as he slipped away. Tears filled his eyes, blurring his vision, until the only thing he could concentrate on was the sound of his brother flat lining. Despair was filling him up inside, where he just wanted to hide and cry like he was five years old again, afraid and scared of the dark. He still was afraid of the dark. Dark included a life without Dean, and he knew he could not survive walking blind and alone in that territory. It wasn't even considered an option.

Then he heard the sweetest sound he thought he'd ever heard. His brother had come back, the beeps of the heart monitor echoing clearly in his head. His shoulders sagged as he felt the tension and despair leave him for a moment. His heart and mind reeled from the emotional onslaught, leaving him feeling drained, tired, and older than his 23 years of age.

Another flash of white transported him to a time and place that didn't exist. Where flames leapt up from all sides, burning his skin, but leaving no marks. He burned, only so he could heal enough to be burned again. The story of his life. Four figures came out of the flames, burning brightly, and arms outstretched. Jess, mom, dad and Dean surrounded him, they're bodies slowly deteriorating, and it was all Sam could do to stare wide-eyed.

"No…" He whispered hoarsely, but he didn't convince anyone. This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not ever. He tried again to speak, but his voice cracked and ran away, deserting him.

In a sudden movement their smiles were replaced by snarls and before Sam had time to react, their arms grabbed him, and pulled him into their embrace, the fire scorching his skin, and setting his heart on fire. Pain encompassed every inch of his body as the fire peeled away his skin, and suffocated him, while voices all around him whispered it was his fault. Everything had always been his fault. In one desperate hope, he peered into the eyes of a man he knew so well. But the green eyes staring back had nothing but hate filled in them, and Sam lost hope and burnt…

Sitting up sharply in his bed, Sam Winchester panted and heaved in his sweat drenched tee. Running a shaky hand over his face, and then running it through his hair, he slowly got out of bed and padded across the motel room floor into the bathroom. He didn't turn the light on for a number of reasons. Reason number one being he didn't want to wake Dean up, and reason number two because he didn't want to see himself in the cracked and dusty mirror that hung on the wall. Too scared of what he might see staring back at him. So he settled for sitting down on the toilet lid, and holding his head in his hand as he tried to keep his dinner down and get his breathing and erratic feelings under control.

Three days now in a row. The same dream came again and again, and each time increasing in intensity. It was starting to take its toll on Sam, with the few hours of sleep he usually managed to get being cut drastically short, and the emotional strain draining his body of all energy. He knew he couldn't keep up this charade of 'being fine' up much longer, before Dean noticed something, but he'd be damned if he wasn't going to try. His brother had too much going on his mind that needed to be taken care of; he shouldn't have to sort out Sam's crap out as well. Sam refused to be a burden this time, and so he dealt silently, and was torn apart piece by piece, when all he was trying to do was keep himself together.

He sat like that for a long time. Calming his racing heart, clearing his mind, and replacing the barriers that broke down every night. Preparing himself should there be questions to be answered, and arguments to be resolved today. Eventually the sun appeared over the horizon, and Sam walked on unsteady legs back into his own bed and stared at the ceiling. He refused to think, because thinking hurt too much. After what seemed a lifetime, Dean started to move around in the bed next to him, slurring incoherent words out, still half asleep. Sam envied his brothers ability to switch off and let his brain shut down on demand. Sam needed to think, to sort things out the best he could before his eyelids closed and was welcomed into the warm embrace of sleep.

So he was screwed. It was impossible to sort things out in his head at the moment, with so many things demanding his attention and not knowing where to start. The scattered and jumbled thoughts crashing into each other like tidal waves. Plus the "warm" embrace of sleep was no longer warm, but cold and merciless, chucking him out into the rain to bleed dry.

More movement next door, and he decided now was the time to play asleep. Dean stood up blearily, glanced in Sam's direction before walking into the bathroom and starting the shower. He lay still and waited, and when the bathroom door opened and dean came out in a towel, his hair still damp, and a cloud of mist trailing out of the open bathroom door, he sighed, grunted something that sounded like good morning and had his shower.

xxxx