Sam pressed his forehead to the shower wall and let the stream of water beat down on his back. Maybe if he stood there long enough, it would wash away the guilt and the grief and the shame of everything he had done since he became a hunter. His heart pounded against his chest. The thoughts. They never left.
It was his fault Jess was dead. He never should have let her get close to him in the first place. It was his fault Dean went to hell. Dean had sold his soul to save him. It was his fault that the apocalypse started. He was stupid enough put his trust in a demon. When Lucifer had been inside his head, he had snapped Bobby's neck and blown Cass to pieces. It was his fault that Dean wasn't still living with Lisa and Ben. He had blown his cover because he wasn't strong enough to hunt on his own. He was an absolute failure. Now that he was back from the cage, all he could think about was how pointless it was for him to be alive. He never did anything right. Maybe he should just give up. He would be doing the world a favor.
Dean pounded his fist against the bathroom door. "Sam! What's taking you so long? I need a shower too ya know!"
Without a word, Sam reached around and turned the water off. He grabbed a towel, dried his hair, and wrapped it around his waist. He opened the door and walked straight past his brother, breathing in the cool air that contrasted the warm fog that poured out of the bathroom. Dean disappeared into the bathroom and Sam heard the water turn on again.
He hung the wet towel over a chair, got dressed, and buried himself under the covers of his cheap motel room bed. He laid there and listened to the rhythmic sound of the shower faucet, thinking about all the ways he had let his brother down. He contemplated what it would be like if he had died to save Dean's soul rather than their father. At least their dad was someone Dean could look up to. Sam was just a burden.
The water turned off. A few minutes later, Dean walked out of the bathroom. His eyes met Sam's. Sam rolled over immediately, so his back was facing his brother.
"Sam." Dean broke the silence. No answer. "Sam, what's going on with you?" No answer.
Sam wanted to answer. But he also knew that just the tone of his voice would alarm Dean, and he didn't want to chance it. Better not to say anything at all.
"Fine. Ignore me then. Night." Dean jumped into bed and turned the light out. Sam listened as Dean's breathing slowed and deepened with sleep.
He was alone.
Sam's chest grew tighter with each passing minute. The past few years of his life flashing behind his eyes every time he closed them. So he didn't. He lay awake, the silence of night ripping into his chest.
1:00. Everything is meaningless. This life he was living. Yeah, he saved people sometimes, but there was always going to be death. What was the point?
2:00. Emptiness. There was a hole inside of him that nothing could ever fill. Maybe he was the only one who had this problem. Maybe he was cursed. The emptiness made him void of emotion. He couldn't feel happy. He couldn't cry. He couldn't put a finger on the way he felt in this moment. All he wanted to do was label it. Not being able to know what he felt was the worst form of torture he could imagine. The emptiness engulfed him.
3:00. Sleep. He just needed sleep. His head pounded with thoughts of doubt and fear and grief. He pulled at his hair angrily. His heart pounded against his chest. He screamed into his pillow. SLEEP. He just needed sleep.
4:00. He wanted to give up. He sat up in bed and buried his face in his hands. The tears didn't come but the emotion did. It made his limbs hurt. His shoulders trembled violently. He sucked in deep breaths of air, attempting to satisfy the burning in his lungs. He got up and walked to the bathroom. The light burned his eyes, so he quickly flipped the switch off again. He splashed water on his face, and let the water run over his hands. It felt good. The cool sensation ran up his arms and into his chest. His breathing slowed and his trembling subsided. He returned to his bed.
4:15. Finally sleep came. He drifted into a world of nightmares. Flashbacks of his life. Imagining his father's disappointment, Jess' death, Dean's rage. His sleep was fitful.
6:00. BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP. He slowly opened his eyes and turned over onto his back. Light peered in through the curtains.
"Mornin' sleeping beauty." Dean's voice was oddly comforting to him this morning. The abyss of night had passed. The sunlight brought a new mood, and a new hope.
Sam sat up and rubbed his fingers over his eyes and through his hair. He reached his arms above his head and stretched, letting out a long yawn. He looked over at Dean, who was stuffing a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.
Dean ran his eyes over his little brother. He looked awful. Sam thought he did a good job at hiding what he felt, but to Dean he was transparent. He knew his brother was depressed. He knew that he dealt with things in a rough manner. This was the main reason Dean was protective over his little brother. Because he knew Sam needed that comfort and security in his life that he clearly didn't get from himself. "Rough night?" Dean inquired.
"Yeah." Sam smirked.
"Well, I made breakfast." Dean's tone was sarcastic as he poured milk into Sam's cereal bowl.
Sam walked over to the small table and sank down into the chair. Even though he knew he would never be good enough for his brother, Dean was the only thing that kept him going. The only reason he didn't ever completely give up.
The night brought hopelessness and suffering. And the morning brought Dean's lighthearted jokes and cold cereal.
That was enough for him.
The End
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