Inner Demons
by PookbearD
Author's note: I have read numerous stories about Dean's struggle to save Sam, but ultimately I feel it is Sam who must save himself. Here lies the foundation of what I feel Sam would be struggling with internally. This takes place shortly after AHBL 1 and 2. Please let me know your thoughts or comments on this. I hope I was able to capture his tortured battle with his inner demons.
Rating: M for language.
Spoilers: for all of seasons 1 and 2.
I own nothing.
He can't get over the gnawing feeling in his stomach - the bottomless pit of emptiness and unending loneliness. It has been with him for so long he can no longer remember when it began. He's never been good with words but something in him is begging him to make sense of this sensation and get it out. The sooner he gets it out, the lighter he will become. This black hole in the middle of his being is threatening to swallow his very soul, or what is left of it.
He is once again laying on a stained, no-tell-motel bed staring up at a ceiling identical to a million other ceilings he has spent countless nights looking for the meaning of life in. They may differ in height and width, but the texture is always the same. Rough, jagged, uneven, dull, even lifeless – words he could be using to describe himself. His heart bares almost as many water stains, as those that dance across the ceiling in the waving light of passing cars from the interstate. If he had to guess the time based on the waning hum of the traffic, he would put it at somewhere close to 2 am.
Only gods and monsters roam the world at this hour. All decent men and women have long since retired to their warm comfy beds in their loving homes, after sharing a family dinner, and kissing the foreheads of their 2.5 kids as they tuck them in after bedtime stories, and letting the ever watchful family dog Rex out for his nightly patrol and guard duties; only to wake up at the crack of dawn and start their normal routines all over again.
No wonder so many human beings or droids are doped to the gills with anti-depressants. If he had to live a life this safe, that boring, he too would be tempted to put a bullet through his brain. He sees how easy it is for some to be alcoholics or dope fiends, it is the ones who suffer through real life, without the chemical buffers that he both envies and despises. Who are they to walk around as if everything is perfect and the sun is always shining in their little corner of the world?
He comes to the conclusion that alcoholics and drug addicts are pussies. They still have hope. They believe that the booze or drugs will give them relief from their pains. Those helpless, ignorant, selfish bastards - why don't they just suck the end of some black-carbon steel and give their families some fucking piece and quiet?
God, or hell even the Devil, when did he become so fucking cynical? What happened to that sweet chubby little toddler who looked at the world through rose-colored glasses? Whom or what destroyed all his happiness? Ignorance truly is bliss. The older he gets and the more he learns, the less he understands . . . any of it. The what, the why – what does it all mean and why are we here? He only wishes he could answer either of those questions.
He's so fucking tired. Sick. Ready to give up but doesn't even know how to. He was always raised to be a fighter. Protect the innocent, punish the wicked. Well, what happens when you turn into the one thing you swore to destroy, and your own decency keeps you from blowing your own fucking brains out?
Why did Dad trade his soul for Dean? Why did Dean do the same for him? What right did either have to think that someone else was more deserving to live then themselves? I am just one person, what can I do to save the world when I can't even take care of myself, my brother, dad, or Jess? I truly sometimes think that things would have been better if I had died that night in the nursery.
Dean thinks the demon is the one to set the fire that night, but he is wrong. The demon wanted me to live, wanted me to become what I am today. God was trying to right the wrong he made in allowing me to be born. I am an abomination, some thing that should be destroyed, doesn't deserve to live; should have never breathed the sweet breath of life. It is thoughts like these that I never shared with Dean. For good reason too, he would have kicked my ass to hell and back.
All the unspoken thoughts of fatherly pride directed towards Dean for being Daddy's good little soldier - following in the old man's footsteps. Always watch out for Sammy, Dean. Look after your little brother, sport. Make sure Sammy stays safe, champ. And any other combination of Sammy is weak and needs looking after and you are strong and it is your responsibility to take care of him. What kind of father dumps that kind of thing on a 4 year old? Dean deserved someone to take care of him too. That was you job dad, not tracking down some damn demon!
You and your masochistic attitude drilled these twisted values into Dean to the point he gave up his eternal soul for me - great going dad. Now your precious little soldier will spend till the end of time roasting in the fires of hell, for me. What a joke. I was never supposed to live past 6 months of age and now another human being is responsible for my pitiful, tarnished soul. Dean deserved so much better than that. He deserved a father, not a drill sergeant. He deserved a little brother or sister to look up to him for being the great big brother he is. Not some snot-nosed, whiney, bitchy, self-absorbed, pain in the ass that I have been for the past 23 years.
Oh yeah, and let's not forget about expressing our emotions, shall we Pop. Winchesters don't cry. Life gives you lemons, make lemonade. What's dead should stay dead. Dean obeyed all your commands, except for the last one. But then how can I blame him for bringing me back, when you did the same for him after the car crash. I was all he had in the world - despite how screwed up our lives have always been. And again he was only following in your footsteps. Like father, like son.
Mom. There's a 3-letter word for both - life and death, love and pain, and a million other words wrapped up into one soft, beautiful, sweet smelling package. How did you know him mom? How? That is the one question that has kept me going for this long. With both you and that yellow-eyed bastard dead, how will I ever discover your connection? Why does he keep calling me his favorite? You too should have let me die all those years ago.
Dean. My brother, reason for being. What have you done? How could you have been so stupid? Can you even fathom how your one selfish act has altered the course of history? Why did you have to go and give yourself up for me? Don't you know by now that there was never anything good in me to begin with? I have been evil, death, rotten to the core ever since ingesting the demon's blood. I am his; he has marked me for all eternity. I am like one of those pretty, shiny red apples in the grocery store produce section that just begs you to pick me, take me home; but once you take me in and cut me open, the insides are rotten and worm infested. That's me – rotten heart, worm infested soul. I am not worth your love, saving, or forgiveness.
Author's note: Well . . . what did you think? These are just some thoughts that have been tumbling around in my head since the season finale the other week. Please let me know your thoughts/opinions on this, my 2nd ever Supernatural fanfic. Thanks.