Sam poured the salt around the body.
He knew the creature was already paralyzed by the bullets his older brother shot through it moments earlier. But he was still being cautions. Or maybe it was fear. He can't tell which.
His older brother was standing a few feet away, a shotgun pressed onto his shoulder, ready to end the demon's life in an instant if need be. But this wasn't his kill and he knew it. So Dean just stood back, his body rigid….hating every second of it.
Since the moment his father pulled him aside and whispered the words into his ear Dean had been silent as the dead. He was furious with his father, even Sam could see that.
Instead of celebrating his son's 13th birthday with a gift and a smile, he told Dean to take Sam out on a hunt and give Sammy his first kill.
'Nice gift, jackass' Dean had wanted to say.
But instead he nodded waited until his father was gone and turned to his younger brother and told him to get ready.
It was any other hunt up until the point where Dean only shot to stop the creature from vanishing.
Sam had watched as Dean pinned the creature to the ground then waved him over.
Sam poured the salt and tried not to cry.
It was two hours later when he finally cried.
It hadn't been as hard as he thought. A simple flex of his fingers and it was all over. Just point and shoot. Simple.
So he hated himself that the moment they got back to the motel he ran to the bathroom and threw up. He hated that an hour after that he cried into a stiff, bleached white towel.
Dean crept silently into the bathroom and dragged Sam against him, holding his back to his chest while Sam gagged into the toilet.
"I'm so sorry," Dean muttered, pressing his face into Sam's neck.
Sam nodded, wanting to say it wasn't his fault…but his mouth wasn't working. Instead he merely turned and buried himself into his brother's chest.
"It'll get easier," Dean whispered into his ear.
Sam swallowed as his body shook again, knowing his brothers words to be true and wishing they weren't.
Dean pressed a hollow kiss against the side of Sam's neck. "I wish I could take you away from all this. But I can't."
Sam nodded against his brother's body.
"I can't save you Sammy, but I can teach you how to survive. I just hope one day you'll forgive me for what it'll do to you." Dean whispered desperately.
Sam swallowed hard. That morning he wouldn't have understood his brothers words. But in that hour, in that precise moment, it made all the sense it the world.
Sam wiped his face on his brothers shirt, pull away and stood. He stared wordlessly for a moment, trying to think of something to say, something to comfort them both.
Dean saved them both by standing up, taking his arms off Sam's body, and leaving the room.
When Sam stepped out of the tiny bathroom he grabbed a bag of salt from the spare bed and went to recheck the lines.
He wondered briefly as the salt stuck under his fingernails, if the next kill would truly be easier. Or if the nightmares just became less frequent with experience.